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THE    POTIPHAR    PAPERS. 


THE 


POTIPHAE    PAPERS 


(ftElMlIXTED   FROM  "PUTXAM'S    MONTHLY.") 


ILLUSTRATED      111'     A.      HOPPItf. 


orh  : 


G.  P.  PUTNAM  AND  COMPANY,  10  PARK  PLACK 
If.DCCC.LIV. 


E.ilsivcl  ik-cording  to  Act  ofOmjrrK,  iu  tbr  \i-.-ir  1-5  •,  1, 

U.  P.  PL-TIUM  A.VU  CUMI-AMV, 

lii  iho  Clerk's  Orti-e  of  |K^  D'ltriot  Co.iK  /  I'm  II,,M«,|  Sl.-it-.'S  i'..r  Hi-  S-, •!!!..-.,  FV-:r' 
N.-v  Y..rk. 


'•  Imagination  fondly  stoops  to  trace 
The  parlor  splendors  of  that  festive  place.'' 

Goldsmith's  Deserted  Village. 

"Manners  are  what  vex  or  sootlie,  corrupt  or  purify,  exalt  or  debase, 
barbarize  or  refine  us,  by  a  constant,  steady,  uniform,  insensible  opera 
tion,  like  that  of  the  air  w«  breathe  in.'' 

Burkes  first  Letter  on  a  Regicide  Peace. 

'•  And  I  do  seriously  approve  of  that  saying  of  yo  iru,  '  that  you  would 
rather  be  a  civil,  well-governed,  well-grounded,  temperate,  poor  angler 
than  a  drunken  lord.'  But  I  hope  there  is  none  such." 

Walton's  Angler. 

"'Mon  petit  faquiu  de  philosophe.'  dit  le  Chevalier  do  Grammont,  'tu 
fais  ici  le  Caton  de  Normfindie.' '' 

"'Est-ce  qne  je  mens  ?'  poursuivit  Saint-Evremond." 

Memoires  de  Grammont. 


REV.   CREAM  CHEESE, 


REV.  AND  DEAR  SIR  : 

It  is  surely  unnecessary  to  call  the  attention 
of  so  astute  an  observer,  and  so  austere  a  critic, 
as  yourself,  to  the  fact  that  the  title  of  the  lead 
ing  essay  in  this  little  volume  (of  which,  permit 
me  to  say,  you  are  so  essential  an  ornament)  is 
marked  as  a  quotation ;  and  a  quotation,  as  you 
Avill  very  well  remember,  from  the  lips  of  our 
friend,  Mrs.  Potiphar,  herself. 

Therefore,  Rev.  Sir,  your  judgment,  which, 
you  must  allow  me  to  say,  is  no  less  impartial 
than  your  experience  is  profound,  will  suggest 
to  you  that  the  subject  of  that  essay  (of  the 
points  of  which  the  succeeding  sketches  are  but 


VI  PREFATORY    LETTER    TO 

elaborations)  is  the  aspect  of  what  is  currently 
termed  "  our  best  society" — whether  with  reason 
or  not,  is  beside  the  purpose. 

Your  pastoral  charity,  I  am  convinced,  will 
persuade  j?o\i  to  direct  the  attention  of  your 
parishioners  to  this  fact,  and  to  assure  them, 
that,  when  you  prepared  your  timely  treatise 
upon  the  progress  of  purple  chasubles  among 
the  Feejee  islanders,  you  were  not  justly 
amenable  to  the  charge  of  omitting  all  notice 
of  the  cultivation  of  artificial  flowers  by  the 
Grim  Tartars.  The  latter  are,  I  believe,  a  very 
estimable  people,  but  they  were  not  the  sub 
jects  of  your  consideration. 

To  those  in  your  parish,  and  elsewhere,  who 
have  thought  fit  to  suppose  that  Mrs.  Potiph ai 
ls  Mrs.  Somebody-else, — what  can  we  say?  con 
scious  as  we  are,  that  they  who  have  once 
known  that  lady  could  never  confound  her 
with  another. 

But  for  those  who  have  actually  supposed 
you,  yourself,  Reverend  Sir,  to  be,  not  some 
body  else,  but  nobody,  (!)  we  can  only  smile 
compassionately,  and  express  the  hope  that  a 


REV.    CREAM   CHEESE.  Vll 

broader     experience     may    give     them     greater 
wisdom. 

In  taking  leave  of  you,  Sir,  I  know  that  I 
express  the  warmest  wish  of  a  large,  a  very 
large  parish,  (I  might  almost  say,  diocese,)  that 
you  may  long  survive.  For  your  parish  is 
fully,  and,  as  I  think,  most  correctly  persuaded, 
that  while  there  is  a  Cream  Cheese,  there  will 
always  be  a  Mrs.  Potiphar. 

With  all  proper  regard, 

I  am, 

Eeverend  and  Dear  Sir, 
Your  very  obedient, 

humble  servant, 
THE  EDITOR. 

NEW  YORK,  December,  1853. 


CONTENTS, 


PAQI 

I.  "  Orn  BEST  SOCIETT," 1 

II.  OUR  NEW  LIVERY,  AND  OTHER  THINGS;  A  LETTER  FROM 

MRS.    POTIPHAR  TO    MlS3   CAROLINE   PETTITOES,              .  47 

III.  A  MEDITATION  BY  PAUL  POTIPHAR,  ESQ.,        ...  97 

IV.  FROM  THE  SUMMER  DIARY  OF  MINERVA  TATTLE,     .         .  135 
V.  THE  POTIPHAKS  IN  PARIS, 183 

VI.  KURZ  PACHA  TO   THE   KING  OF  SENNAAR,  UPON  RECEIV 
ING  HIS  LETTERS  OF  EECALL,  (now  Jirst  translated.)  237 
VII.  THE  EEV.  HENRY  DOVE  TO  MRS.  POTIPHAR,  (private.)  .  247    ^ 


I. 


©ur 


"  ©ur  $J«t 


IF  gilt  were  only  gold,  or  sugar-candy  common 
sense,  what  a  fine  thing  our  society  would 
be !  If  to  lavish  money  upon  cibjets  de  vertu, 
to  wear  the  most  costly  dresses,  and  always  to 
have  them  cut  in  the  height  of  the  fashion ;  to 
build  houses  thirty  feet  broad,  as  if  they  were 
palaces ;  to  furnish  them  with  all  the  luxurious 
devices  of  Parisian  genius ;  to  give  superb  ban 
quets,  at  which  your  guests  laugh,  and  which 
make  you  miserable ;  to  drive  a  fine  carriage 
and  ape  European  liveries,  and  crests,  and  coats- 
of-arms ;  to  resent  the  friendly  advances  of  your 
baker's  wife,  and  the  lady  of  your  butcher  (you 
being  yourself  a  cobbler's  daughter)  ;  to  talk 

much  of  the    "  old  families "  and  of  your   aris- 
l 


2  THE    J'OTll'HAK    I'APKKS. 

tocratic  foreign  friends ;  to  despise  labour ;  to 
prate  of  "good  society;"  to  travesty  and  parody, 
in  every  conceivable  way,  a  society  which  \ve 
know  only  in  books  and  by  the  superficial 
observation  of  foreign  travel,  which  arises  out 
of  a  social  organ ization  entirely  unknown  to  us, 
and  which  is  opposed  to  our  fundamental  and 
essential  principles ;  if  all  this  were  line,  what 
a  prodigiously  fine  society  would  ours  be ! 

This  occurred  to  us  upon  lately  receiving  a 
card  of  invitation  to  a  brilliant  ball.  "We 
were  quietly  ruminating  over  our  evening  lire, 
with  Disraeli's  Wellington  speech,  "all  tears," 
in  our  hands,  with  the  account  of  a  great  man's 
burial,  and  a  little  man's  triumph  across  the 
channel.  So  many  great  men  gone,  we  mused, 
and  such  great  crises  impending !  This  demo 
cratic  movement  in  Europe;  Kossuth  and  Maz- 
zini  waiting  for  the  moment  to  give  the  word ; 
the  Russian  bear  watchfully  sucking  his  paws ; 
the  Napoleonic  empire  redivivus;  Cuba,  and 
annexation,  and  slavery;  California  and  Aus 
tralia,  and  the  consequent  considerations  of 
political  economy ;  dear  me !  exclaimed  we, 


"OUR   BEST   SOCIETY."  3 

putting  on  a  fresh  hodful  of  coal,  we  must  look 
a  little  into  the  state  of  parties. 

As  we  put  down  the  coal-scuttle  there  was  a 
knock  at  the  door.  We  said,  "come  in,"  and 
in  came  a  neat  Alhambra- watered  envelope, 
containing  the  announcement  that  the  queen 
of  fashion  was  "  at  home"  that  evening  week. 
Later  in  the  evening,  came  a  friend  to  smoke  a 
cigar.  The  card  was  lying  upon  the  table,  and 
he  read  it  with  eagerness.  "  You'll  go,  of 
course,"  said  he,  "  for  you  will  meet  all  the  'best 
society.' " 

Shall  we,  truly  ?  Shall  we  really  see  the 
"  best  society  of  the  city,"  the  picked  flower  of 
its  genius,  character,  and  beauty  ?  What  makes 
the  "  best  society"  of  men  and  women  ?  The 
noblest  specimens  of  each,  of  course.  The  men 
who  mould  the  time,  who  refresh  our  faith  in 
heroism  and  virtue,  who  make  Plato,  and  Zeno, 
and  Shakspeare,  and  all  Shakspeare's  gentle 
men,  possible  again.  The  women,  whose  beauty, 
arid  sweetness,  and  dignity,  and  high  accom 
plishment,  and  grace,  make  us  understand  the 
Greek  Mythology,  and  weaken  our  desire  to 


THE   POTIl'HAR   1'APEUS. 

have  some  glimpse  of  the  most  famous  women 
of  history .  The  "  best  society"  is  that  in  which 
the  virtues  are  most  shining,  which  is  the  most 
charitable,  forgiving,  long-suffering,  modest, 
and  innocent.  The  "  best  society"  is,  in  its 
very  name,  that  in  which  there  is  the  least 
hypocrisy  and  insincerity  of  all  kinds,  which 
recoils  from,  and  blasts,  artificiality,  which  is 
anxious  to  be  all  that  it  is  possible  to  be, 
and  which  sternly  reprobates  all  shallow  pre 
tence,  all  coxcombry  and  foppery,  and  insists 
upon  simplicity  as  the  infallible  characteristic 
of  true  worth.  That  is  the  "best  society,"  which 
comprises  the  best  men  and  women. 

Had  we  recently  arrived  from  the  moon,  we 
might,  upon  hearing  that  we  wore  to  meet  the 
"  best  society,"  have  fancied  that  we  were  about  to 
enjoy  an  opportunity  not  to  be  overvalued.  But 
unfortunately  we  were  not  so  freshly  arrived. 
We  had  received  other  cards,  and  had  perfected 
our  toilette  many  times,  to  meet  this  same  so 
ciety,  so  magnificently  described,  and  had  found 
it  the  least  "best"  of  all.  Who  compose  it? 
Whom  shall  we  meet  if  we  go  to  this  ball  ? 


;(  OUR   BEST  SOCIETY."  5 

We  shall  meet  three  classes  of  persons :  first, 
those  who  are  rich,  and  who  have  all  that  mo 
ney  can  buy  ;  second,  those  who  belong  to  what 
are  technically  called  "the  good  old  families," 
because  some  ancestor  was  a  man  of  mark  in 
the  state  or  country,  or  was  very  rich,  and  has 
kept  the  fortune  in  the  family ;  and,  thirdly,  a 
swarm  of  youths  who  can  dance  dexterously, 
and  who  are  invited  for  that  purpose.  Now 
these  are  all  arbitrary  and  factitious  distinc 
tions  upon  which  to  found  so  profound  a  social 
difference  as  that  which  exists  in  American,  or, 
at  least,  in  New  York  society.  First,  as  a  gen 
eral  rule,  the  rich  men  of  every  community 
who  make  their  own  money  are  not  the  most 
generally  intelligent  and  cultivated.  They 
have  a  shrewd  talent  which  secures  a  fortune, 
and  which  keeps  them  closely  at  the  work  of 
amassing  from  their  youngest  years  until  they 
are  old.  They  are  sturdy  men  of  simple  tastes 
often.  Sometimes,  though  rarely,  very  generous, 
but  necessarily  with  an  altogether  false  and  ex 
aggerated  idea  of  the  importance  of  money. 
They  .are  a  rather  rough,  unsympathetic,  and, 


6  THE   POTIPHAR    PAPERS. 

perhaps,  selfish  class,  who,  themselves,  de?pise 
purple  and  fine  linen,  and  still  prefer  a  cot-Led 
and  a  bare  room,  although  they  may  be  worth 
millions.  But  they  are  married  to  scheming,  or 
ambitious,  or  disappointed  women,  whose  lite  is 
a  prolonged  pageant,  and  they  are  dragged 
hither  and  thither  in  it,  are  bled  of  their  golden 
blood,  and  forced  into  a  position  they  do  not 
covet  and  which,  they  despise.  Then  there  are 
the  inheritors  of  wealth.  How  many  of  them 
inherit  the  valiant  genius  and  hard  frugality 
which  built  up  their  fortunes;  how  many  ac 
knowledge  the  stern  and  heavy  responsibility 
of  their  opportunities;  how  many  refuse  to 
dream  their  lives  away  in  a  Sybarite  luxury ; 
how  many  are  smitten  with  the  lofty  ambition 
of  achieving  an  enduring  name  by  works  of  a 
permanent  value ;  how  many  do  not  dwindle 
into  dainty  dilettanti,  and  dilute  their  manhood 
with  factitious  sentimentality  instead  of  a  hearty, 
human  sympathy ;  how  many  are  not  satisfied 
with  having  the  fastest  horses  and  the  "  crackest" 
carriages,  and  an  unlimited  wardrobe,  and  a  weak 
affectation  and  puerile  imitation  of  foreign  life? 


"OUR   BEST   SOCIETY.  7 

And  who  are  these  of  our  secondly,  these 
"  old  families"  ?  The  spirit  of  our  time  and  of 
our  country  knows  no  such  thing,  but  the  ha 
bitue  of  "  society1'  hears  constantly  of  "  a  good 
family."  It  means  simply,  the  collective  mass 
of  children,  grandchildren,  nephews,  nieces,  and 
descendants  of  some  man  who  deserved  well 
of  his  country,  and  whom  his  country  honors. 
But  sad  is  the  heritage  of  a  great  name  !  The 
son  of  Burke  will  inevitably  be  measured  by 
Burke.  The  niece  of  Pope  must  show  some 
superiority  to  other  women  (so  to  speak),  or  her 
equality  is  inferiority.  The  feeling  of  men  at 
tributes  some  magical  charm  to  blood,  and  we 
look  to  see  the  daughter  of  Helen  as  fair  as 
her  mother,  and  the  son  of  Shakspeare  musi 
cal  as  his  sire.  If  they  are  not  so,  if  they  are 
merely  names,  and  common  persons — if  there 
is  no  Burke,  nor  Shakspeare,  nor  Washington, 
nor  Bacon,  in  their  words,  or  actions,  or  lives, 
then  we  must  pity  them,  and  pass  gently  on, 
not  upbraiding  them,  but  regretting  that  it  is 
one  of  the  laws  of  greatness  that  it  dwindles  all 
things  in  its  vicinity,  which  would  otherwise 


8  THE   POTIPHAR  PAPERS. 

show  large  enough.  Nay,  in  our  regard  for  the 
great  man,  \ve  may  even  admit  to  a  compas 
sionate  honor,  as  pensioners  upon  our  charity, 
those  who  bear  and  transmit  his  name.  But  if 
these  heirs  should  presume  upon  that  fame,  and 
claim  any  precedence  of  living  men  and  women 
because  their  dead  grandfather  was  a  hero, — 
they  must  be  shown  the  door  directly.  We 
should  dread  to  be  born  a  Percy,  or  a  Colonna, 
or  a  Bonaparte.  We  should  not  like  to  be  the 
second  Duke  of  Wellington,  nor  Charles  Dickens, 
jr.  It  is  a  terrible  thing,  one  would  say,  to  a 
mind  of  honorable  feeling,  to  be  pointed  out 
as  somebody's  son,  or  uncle,  or  granddaughter, 
as  if  the  excellence  were  all  derived.  It  must 
be  a  little  humiliating  to  reflect  that  if  your 
great  uncle  had  not  been  somebody,  you  would 
be  nobody, — that,  in  fact,  you  are  only  a  name, 
and  that,  if  you  should  consent  to  change  it  for 
the  sake  of  a  fortune,  as  is  sometimes  done, 
you  would  cease  to  be  any  thing  but  a  rich 
man.  "  My  father  was  President,  or  Governor 
of  the  State,"  some  pompous  man  may  say. 
But,  by.  Jupiter!  king  of  gods  and  men,  what 


"OUR   BEST  SOCIETY."  9 

are  you  ?  is  the  instinctive  response.  Do  you 
not  see,  our  pompous  friend,  that  you  are  only 
pointing  your  own  unimportance  ?  If  your 
father  was  Governor  of  the  State,  what  right 
have  you  to  use  that  fact  only  to  fatten  your 
self-conceit?  Take  care,  good  care;  for  whether 
you  say  it  by  your  lips  or  by  your  life,  that 
withering  response  awaits  you, — "then  what  are 
you?'1  If  your  ancestor  was  great,  you  are 

* 

under  bonds  to  greatness.  If  you  are  small, 
make  haste  to  learn  it  betimes,  and,  thanking 
Heaven  that  your  name  has  been  made  illus 
trious,  retire  into  a  corner  and  keep  it,  at  least, 
untarnished. 

Our  thirdly,  is  a  class  made  by  sundry  French 
tailors,  bootmakers,  dancing-masters,  and  Mr. 
Brown.  They  are  a  corps-de-ballet,  for  the  use 
of  private  entertainments.  They  are  fostered  by 
society  for  the  use  of  young  debutantes,  and 
hardier  damsels,  who  have  dared  two  or  three 
years  of  the  "tight"  polka.  They  are  cultivated 
for  their  heels,  not  their  heads.  Their  life  be 
gins  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  lasts 
until  four  in  the  morning.  They  go  home  and 


10  THE   POTIPHAR  TAPERS. 

sleep  until  nine  ,•  then  they  reel,  sleepy,  to 
counting-houses  and  offices,  and  doze  on  desks 
until  dinner-time.  Or,  unable  to  do  that,  they 
are  actively  at  work  all  day,  and  their  checks 
grow  pale,  and  their  lips  thin,  and  their  eyes 
bloodshot  and  hollow,  and  they  drag  themselves 
home  at  evening  to  catch  a  nap  until  the  ball 
begins,  or  to  dine  and  smoke  at  their  clnb,  and 
be  very  manly  with  punches  and  coarse  stories; 

* 

and  then  to  rush  into  hot  and  glittering  room:;, 
and  seize  very  decollete  girls  closely  around  the 
waist,  and  dash  with  them  around  an  area  of 
stretched  linen,  saying  in  the  panting  pauses, 
"How  very  hot  it  is!"  "How  very  pretty  Miss 
Podge  looks!"  "What  a  good  redowa!"  "Are 
you  going  to  Mrs.  Potiphar's?" 

Is  this  the  assembled  flower  of  manhood  and 
womanhood,  called  "  best  society,''  and  to  see 
which  is  so  envied  a  privilege  ?  If  such  are 
the  elements,  can  we  be  long  in  arriving  at  the 
present  state,  and  necessary  future  condition  of 
parties  ? 

"Vanity  Fair"  is  peculiarly  a  picture  of  mo 
dern  society.  It  aims  at  English  follies,  but  its 


"OUK   BEST  SOCIETY."  11 

mark  is  universal,  as  the  madness  is.  It  is 
called  a  satire,  but  after  much  diligent  reading, 
we  cannot  discover  the  satire.  A  state  of  society 
not  at  all  superior  to  that  of  "  Vanity  Fair "  is 
not  unknown  to  our  experience  ;  and,  unless 
truth-telling  be  satire ;  unless  the  most  tragically 
real  portraiture  be  satire  ;  unless  scalding  tears  of 
sorrow,  and  the  bitter  regret  of  a  manly  mind 
over  the  miserable  spectacle  of  artificiality,  wasted 
powers,  misdirected  energies,  and  lost  opportu 
nities,  be  satirical ;  we  do  not  find  satire  in  that 
sad  story.  The  reader  closes  it  with  a  grief  be 
yond  tears.  It  leaves  a  vague  apprehension  in 
the  mind,  as  if  we  should  suspect  the  air  to  be 
poisoned.  It  suggests  the  terrible  thought  of 
the  enfeebling  of  moral  power,  and  the  deteri 
oration  of  noble  character,  as  a  necessary  conse 
quence  of  contact  with  "  society."  Every  man 
looks  suddenly  and  sharply  around  him,  and 
accosts  himself  and  his  neighbors,  to  ascertain 
if  they  are  all  parties  to  this  corruption.  Senti 
mental  youths  and  maidens,  upon  velvet  sofas, 
or  in  calf-bound  libraries,  resolve  that  it  is  an 
insult  to  human  nature — are  sure  that  their 


12  THE   TOTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

velvet  and  calf-bound  friends  are  not  like  the 
dramatis  persona?  of  "  Vanity  Fair,"  and  that 
the  drama  is  therefore  hideous  and  unreal.  They 
should  remember,  what  they  uniformly  and  uni 
versally  forget,  that  we  are  not  invited,  upon 
the  rising  of  the  curtain,  to  behold  a  cosmo- 
rama,  or  picture  of  the  world,  but  a  represent 
ation  of  that  part  of  it  called  Vanity  Fair. 
What  its  just  limits  are — how  far  its  poisonous 
purlieus  reach — how  much  of  the  world's  air 
is  tainted  by  it,  is  a  question  which  every 
thoughtful  man  will  ask  himself,  with  a  shud 
der,  and  look  sadly  around,  to  answer.  If  the 
sentimental  objectors  rally  again  to  the  charge, 
and  declare  that,  if  we  wish  to  improve  the 
world,  its  virtuous  ambition  must  be  piqued 
and  stimulated  by  making  the  shining  heights 
of  "  the  ideal "  more  radiant ;  we  reply,  that 
none  shall  surpass  us  in  honoring  the  men 
whose  creations  of  beauty  inspire  and  instruct 
mankind.  But  if  they  benefit  the  world,  it  is 
no  less  true  that  a  vivid  apprehension  of  the 
depths  into  which  we  are  sunken  or  may  sink, 
nerves  the  soul's  courage  quite  as  much  as  the 


"OUR  BEST  SOCIETY."  13 

alluring  mirage  of  the  happy  heights  we  may 
attain.  "  To  hold  the  mirror  up  to  Nature,"  is 
still  the  most  potent  method  of  shaming  sin  and 
strengthening  virtue. 

If  "  Vanity  Fair "  is  a  satire,  what  novel  of 
society  is  not?  Are  "Vivian  Grey,"  and  "Pel- 
ham,"  and  the  long  catalogue  of  books  illustrat 
ing  English,  or  the  host  of  Balzacs,  Sands, 
Sues,  and  Dumas,  that  paint  French  society, 
any  less  satires?  Nay,  if  you  should  catch  any 
dandy  in  Broadway,  or  in  Pall-Mall,  or  upon 
the  Boulevards,  this  very  morning,  and  write  a 
coldly  true  history  of  his  life  and  actions,  his 
doings  and  undoings,  would  it  not  be  the  most 
scathing  and  tremendous  satire  ? — if  by  satire 
you  mean  the  consuming  melancholy  of  the 
conviction,  that  the  life  of  that  pendant  to  a 
moustache,  is  an  insult  to  the  possible  life  of  a 
man? 

We  have  read  of  a  hypocrisy  so  thorough, 
that  it  was  surprised  you  should  think  it  hypo 
critical  ;  and  we  have  bitterly  thought  of  the 
saying,  when  hearing  one  mother  say  of  another 
mother's  child,  that  she  had  "  made  a  good 


14  THE    POTIPHAtt    PAPERS. 

match,"  because  the  girl  was  betrothed  to  a  stu 
pid  boy  whose  father  was  rich.  The  remark 
was  the  key  of  our  social  feeling. 

•/ 

Let  us  look  at  it  a  little,  and,  first  of  all,  let 
the  reader  consider  the  criticism,  and  not  the 
critic.  We  may  like  very  well,  in  our  indi 
vidual  capacity,  to  partake  of  the  delicacies 
prepared  by  our  hostess's  chef,  we  may  not 
be  averse  to  pate  and  myriad  objcts  de  goaf,  and 
if  you  caught  us  in  a  corner  at  the  next  ball, 
putting  away  a  fair  share  of  dindc  aux  truffes, 
we  know  you  would  have  at  us  in  a  tone  of 
great  moral  indignation,  and  wish  to  know  why 
we  sneaked  into  great  houses,  eating  good  sup 
pers,  and  drinking  choice  wines,  and  then  went 
away  with  an  indigestion,  to  write  dyspeptic 
disgusts  at  society. 

We  might  reply  that  it  is  necessary  to  know 
something  of  a  subject  before  writing  about  it, 
and  that  if  a  man  wished  to  describe  the  habits 
of  South  Sea  Islanders,  it  is  useless  to  go  to 
Greenland ;  we  might  also  confess  a  partiality 
for  paie,  and  a  tenderness  for  truffes,  and  ac 
knowledge  that,  considering  our  single  absence 


"OUR  BEST  SOCIETY."  15 

would  not  put  down  extravagant,  pompous  par 
ties,  \ve  were  not  strong  enough  to  let  the  morsels 
drop  into  unappreciating  mouths;  or  we  might 
say,  that  if  a  man  invited  us  to  see  his  new 
house,  it  would  not  be  ungracious  nor  insulting 
to  his  hospitality,  to  point  out  whatever  weak 
parts  we  might  detect  in  it,  nor  to  declare  our 
candid  conviction,  that  it  was  built  upon  wrong 
principles  and  could  not  stand.  lie  might  be 
lieve  us  if  we  had  been  in  the  house,  but  he 
certainly  would  not,  if  we  had  never  seen  it. 
Xor  would  it  be  a  very  wise  reply  upon  his 
part,  that  we  might  build  a  better  if  we  didn't 
like  that.  AYc  are  not  fond  of  David's  pictures, 
but  we  certainly  coald  never  paint  half  so  well ; 
nor  of  Pope's  poetry,  but  posterity  will  never 
hear  of  our  verses.  Criticism  is  not  construction, 
it  is  observation.  If  we  could  surpass  in  its 
own  way  every  thing  which  displeased  us,  we 
should  make  short  work  of  it,  and  instead  of 
showing  what  fatal  blemishes  deform  our  present 
society,  we  should  present  a  specimen  of  perfec 
tion,  directly. 

We   went   to   the   brilliant   ball.      There   was 


16  THE   POTIPIIAIl    PAPERS. 

too  much  of  every  thin  jr.  Too  much  light,  and 
eating,  and  drinking,  and  dancing,  and  flirting, 
and  dressing,  and  feigning,  and  smirking,  and 
much  too  many  people.  Good  taste  insists  first 
upon  fitness.  But  why  had  Mrs.  Potiphar  given 
this  ball  ?  We  inquired  industriously,  and  learned 
it  was  because  she  did  not  give  one  last  year. 
Is  it  then  essential  to  do  this  thing  bienni 
ally?  inquired  we  with  some  trepidation.  "Cer 
tainly,"  was  the  bland  reply,  "  or  society  will 
forget  you."  Every  body  was  unhappy  at  Mrs. 
Potiphar's,  save  a  few  girls  and  boys,  who  danced 
violently  all  the  evening.  Those  who  did  not 
dance  walked  up  and  down  the  rooms  as  well 
as  they  could,  squeezing  by  non-dancing  ladies, 
causing  them  to  swear  in  their  hearts  as  the 
brusque  broadcloth  carried  away  the  light  out 
works  of  gauze  and  gossamer.  The  dowagers, 
ranged  in  solid  phalanx,  occupied  all  the  chairs 
and  sofas  against  the  wall,  and  fanned  themselves 
until  supper-time,  looking  at  each  other's  dia 
monds,  and  criticising  the  toilettes  of  the  younger 
ladies,  each  narrowly  watching  her  peculiar  Polly 
Jane,  that  she  did  not  betray  too  much  interest 


"OUR   BEST   SOCIETY."  17 

iii  any  man  who  was  not  of  a  certain  fortune. 
It  is  the  cold,  vulgar  truth,  madam,  nor  are  we 
in  the  slightest  degree  exaggerating.  Elderly 
gentlemen,  twisting  single  gloves  in  a  very 
wretched  manner,  came  up  and  bowed  to  the 
dowagers,  and  smirked,  and  said  it  was  a  pleas 
ant  party,  and  a  handsome  house,  and  then 
clutched  their  hands  behind  them,  and  walked 
miserably  away,  looking  as  affable  as  possible. 
And  the  dowagers  made  a  little  fun  of  the 
elderly  gentlemen,  among  themselves,  as  they 
walked  away. 

Then  came  the  younger  non-dancing  men — a 
class  of  the  community  who  wear  black  cravats 
and  waistcoats,  and  thrust  their  thumbs  and 
forefingers  in  their  waistcoat  pockets,  and  are 
called  "  talking  men."  Some  of  them  are  lite 
rary,  and  affect  the  philosopher ;  have,  perhaps, 
written  a  book  or  two,  and  are  a  small  species 
of  lion  to  very  young  ladies.  Some  are  of  the 
blase  kind;  men  who  affect  the  extremest  ele 
gance,  and  are  reputed  "  so  aristocratic,"  and 
who  care  for  nothing  in  particular,  but  wish 
they  had  not  been  born  gentlemen,  in  which 


18  THE   POTIPIIAR   PAPERS. 

case  they  might  have  escaped  ennui.  These 
gentlemen  stand  with  hat  in  hand,  and  coats 
and  trowsers  most  unexceptionable.  They  are 
the  "so  gentlemanly"  persons  of  whom  one  hears 
a  great  deal,  but  which  seems  to  mean  nothing 
but  cleanliness.  Vivian.  Grey  and  Pelharn  are 
the  models  of  their  ambition,  and  they  succeed 
in  being  Pendennis.  They  enjoy  the  reputation 
of  being  "very  clever,"  and  "very  talented  fel 
lows,"  "smart  chaps,"  &c.,  but  they  refrain  from 
proving  what  is  so  generously  conceded.  They 
are  often  men  of  a  certain  cultivation.  They 
have  travelled,  many  of  them, — spending  a  year 
or  two  in  Paris,  and  a  month  or  two  in  the  rest 
of  Europe.  Consequently  they  endure  society 
at  home,  with  a  smile,  and  a  shrug,  and  a  grace 
ful  superciliousness,  which  is  very  engaging. 
They  are  perfectly  at  home,  and  they  rather 
despise  Young  America,  which,  in  the  next 
room,  is  diligently  earning  its  invitation.  They 
prefer  to  hover  about  the  ladies  who  did  not 
come  out  this  season,  but  are  a  little  used  to 
the  world,  with  whom  they  are  upon  most 
friendly  terms,  and  who  criticise  together  very 


"OUR   BEST   SOCIETY."  19 

freely  all   the   great   events  in  the   great  world 
of  fashion. 

These  elegant  Pendennises  we  saw  at  Mrs. 
Potiphar's,  but  not  without  a  sadness  which  can 
hardly  be  explained.  They  had  been  boys  once, 
all  of  them,  fresh  and  frank-hearted,  and  full  of 
a  noble  ambition.  They  had  read  and  pondered 
the  histories  of  great  men  ;  how  they  resolved, 
and  struggled,  and  achieved.  In  the  pure  por 
traiture  of  genius,  they  had  loved  and  honoured 
noble  women,  and  each  young  heart  was  sworn 
to  truth  and  the  service  of  beauty.  Those  feel 
ings  were  chivalric  and  fair.  Those  boyish  in 
stincts  clung  to  whatever  was  lovely,  and  rejected 
the  specious  snare,  however  graceful  and  elegant. 
They  sailed,  new  knights,  upon  that  old  and  end 
less  crusade  against  hypocrisy  and  the  devil,  and 
they  were  lost  in  the  luxury  of  Corinth,  nor 
longer  seek  the  difficult  shores  beyond.  A  pres 
ent  smile  was  worth  a  future  laurel.  The  ease 
of  the  moment  was  worth  immortal  tranquillity. 
They  renounced  the  stern  worship  of  the  un 
known  God,  and  acknowledged  the  deities  of 
Athens.  But  the  seal  of  their  shame  is  their 


20  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

own  smile  at  their  early  dreams,  and  the  high 
hopes  of  their  boyhood,  their  sneering  infidelity 
of  simplicity,  their  skepticism  of  motives  and  of 
men.  Youths,  whose  younger  years  were  fervid 
with  the  resolution  to  strike  and  win,  to  de 
serve,  at  least,  a  gentle  remembrance,  if  not  a 
dazzling  fame,  are  content  to  eat,  and  drink, 
and  sleep  well ;  to  go  to  the  opera  and  all  the 
balls  ;  to  be  known  as  "  gentlemanly,"  and 
"aristocratic,"  and  "dangerous,"  and  "elegant;" 
to  cherish  a  luxurious  and  enervating  indolence, 
and  to  "succeed,"  upon  the  cheap  reputation  of 
having  been  "fast"  in  Paris.  The  end  of  such 
men  is  evident  enough  from  the  beginning. 
They  are  snufled  out  by  a  "great  match,"  and 
become  an  appendage  to  a  rich  woman  ;  or 
they  dwindle  off  into  old  roues,  men  of  the 
world  in  sad  earnest,  and  not  with  elegant 
affectation,  blase ;  and  as  they  began  Arthur 
Pendennises,  so  they  end  the  Major.  But, 
believe  it,  that  old  fossil  heart  is  wrung  some 
times  by  a  mortal  pang,  as  it  remembers  those 
squandered  opportunities  and  that  lost  life. 
From  these  groups  we  passed  into  the  dancing- 


"OUR  BEST  SOCIETY."  21 

room.  We  have  seen  dancing  in  other  countries, 
and  dressing.  We  have  certainly  never  seen 
gentlemen  dance  so  easily,  gracefully  and  well 
as  the  American.  But  the  style  of  dancing,  in 
its  whirl,  its  rush,  its  fury,  is  only  equalled  by 
that  of  the  masked  balls  at  the  French  opera, 
and  the  balls  at  the  Salle  Valentino,  the  Jardin 
Mabille,  the  Chateau  Rouge,  and  other  favourite 
resorts  of  Parisian  Grisettes  and  Lorettes.  We 
saw  a  few  young  men  looking  npon  the  dance 
very  soberly,  and,  upon  inquiry,  learned  that 
they  were  engaged  to  certain  ladies  of  the  corps- 
de-ballet.  Nor  did  we  wonder  that  the  specta 
cle  of  a  young  woman  whirling  in  a  decollete 
state,  and  in  the  embrace  of  a  warm  youth, 
around  a  heated  room,  induced  a  little  sobriety 
upon  her  lover's  face,  if  not  a  sadness  in  his 
heart.  Amusement,  recreation,  enjoyment!  There 
are  no  more  beautiful  things.  But  this  proceed 
ing  falls  under  another  head.  We  watched  the 
various  toilettes  of  these  bounding  belles.  They 
were  rich  and  tasteful.  But  a  man  at  our  elbow, 
of  experience  and  shrewd  observation,  said,  with 
a  sneer,  for  which  we  called  him  to  account, 


22  THE   FOTIPIIAH    I'Al'KKS. 

"I  observe  that  American  ladies  are  so  rich  in 
charms  that  they  are  not  at  all  chary  of  them. 
It  is  certainly  generous  to  us  miserable  black 
coats.  But,  do  you  kno\v,  it  strikes  me  as  a 
generosity  of  display  that  must  necessarily  leave 
the  donor  poorer  in  maidenly  feeling."  We 
thought  ourselves  cynical,  but  this  was  intoler 
able  ;  and  in  a  very  crisp  manner  we  demanded 
an  apology. 

"Why,"  responded  our  friend  with  more  of 
sadness  than  of  satire  in  his  tone,  "  why  are  you 
so  exasperated?  Look  at  this  scene!  Consider 
that  this  is,  really,  the  life  of  these  girls.  This 
is  what  they  '  come  out'  for.  This  is  the  end  of 
their  ambition.  They  think  of  it,  dream  of  it,  long 
for  it.  Is  it  amusement?  Yes,  to  a  few,  possibly. 
But  listen,  and  gather,  if  you  can,  from  their 
remarks  (when  they  make  any)  that  they  have 
any  thought  beyond  this,  and  going  to  church 
very  rigidly  on  Sunday.  The  vigor  of  polking 
and  church-going  arc  proportioned ;  as*  is  the  one 
so  is  the  other.  My  young  friend,  I  am  no 
ascetic,  and  do  not  suppose  a  man  is  damned 
because  he  dances.  But  Life  is  not  a  ball  (more's 


"OUR   BEST   SOCIETY."  23 

the  pity,  truly,  lor  these  butterflies),  nor  is  its 
sole  duty  and  delight,  dancing.  "When  I  con 
sider  this  spectacle, — when  I  remember  what  a 
noble  and  beautiful  woman  is,  what  a  manly  man, 
— when  I  reel,  dazzled  by  this  glare,  drunken 
with  these  perfumes,  confused  by  this  alluring 
music,  and  reflect  upon  the  enormous  sums 
wasted  in  a  pompous  profusion  that  delights  no 
one, — when  I  look  around  upon  all  this  rampant 
vulgarity  in  tinsel  and  Brussels  lace,  and  think 
how  fortunes  go,  how  men  struggle  and  lose  the 
bloom  of  their  honesty,  how  women  hide  in  a 
smiling  pretence,  and  eye  with  caustic  glances 
their  neighbor's  newer  house,  diamonds,  or  por 
celain,  and  observe  their  daughters,  such  as 
these, — why,  I  tremble  and  tremble,  and  this 
scene  to-night,  every  '  crack'  ball  this  winter  will 
be,  not  the  pleasant  society  of  men  and  women, 
but — even  in  this  young  country — an  orgie  such 
as  rotting  Corinth  saw,  a  frenzied  festival  of  Rome 
in  its  decadence." 

There  was  a  sober  truth  in  this  bitterness,  arid 
we  turned  away  to  escape  the  sombre  thought 
of  the  moment.  Addressing  one  of  the  panting 


2-i  THE   POTIPHAH  PAPERS. 

Houris  who  stood  melting  in  a  window,  we  spoke 
(and  confess  how  absurdly)  of  the  Diisseldorf 
Gallery.  It  was  merely  to  avoid  saying  how 
warm  the  room  was,  and  how  pleasant  the  party 
was ;  facts  upon  which  we  had  already  sufficiently 
enlarged.  "  Yes,  they  are  pretty  pictures ;  but 
la !  how  long  it  must  have  taken  Mr.  Diisseldorf 
to  paint  them  all ;"  was  the  reply. 

By  the  Farnesian  Hercules!  no  Roman  sylph 
in  her  city's  decline  would  ever  have  called  the 
sun-god,  Mr.  Apollo.  We  hope  that  Hour!  melted 
entirely  away  in  the  window,  but  we  certainly  did 
not  stay  to  see. 

Passing  out  toward  the  supper-room  we  en 
countered  two  young  men.  "What,  Ilal,"  said 
one,  "you  at  Mrs.  Potiphar's?"  It  seems  that  Hal 
was  a  sprig  of  one  of  the  "  old  families."  "  Well, 
Joe,"  said  Hal,  a  little  confused,  "  it  is  a  little 
strange.  The  fact  is  I  didn't  mean  to  be  here, 
but  I  concluded  to  compromise  by  coming,  and 
not  being  introduced  to  the  host."  Hal  could  come, 
eat  Potiphar's  supper,  drink  his  wines,  spoil  his 
carpets,  laugh  at  his  fashionable  struggle?,  and 
affect  the  puppyism  of  a  foreign  Lord,  because 


"OUK   BEST  SOCIETY."  25 

he  disgraced  the  name  of  a  man  who  had  done 
some  service  somewhere,  while  Potiphar  was  only 
an  honest  man  who  made  a  fortune. 

The  supper-room  was  a  pleasant  place.  The 
table  was  covered  with  a  chaos  of  supper.  Every 
thing  sweet  and  rare,  and  hot  and  cold,  solid  and 
liquid,  was  there.  It  was  the  very  apotheosis  of 
gilt  gingerbread.  There  was  a  universal  rush  and 
struggle.  The  charge  of  the  guards  at  Waterloo 
was  nothing  to  it.  Jellies,  custard,  oyster-soup, 
ice-cream,  wine  and  water,  gushed  in  profuse  cas 
cades  over  transparent  precipices  of  tulle,  muslin, 
gauze,  silk,  and  satin.  Clumsy  boys  tumbled 
against  costly  dresses  and  smeared  them  with 
preserves, — when  clean  plates  failed,  the  contents 
of  plates  already  used  were  quietly  "chucked" 
under  the  table — heel-taps  of  champagne  were 
poured  into  the  oyster  tureens  or  overflowed 
upon  plates  to  clear  the  glasses — wine  of  all 
kinds  flowed  in  torrents,  particularly  down  the 
throats  of  very  young  men,  who  evinced  their 
manhood  by  becoming  noisy,  troublesome,  and 
disgusting,  and  were  finally  either  led,  sick,  into 
the  hat  room,  or  carried  out  of  the  way,  drunk. 


26  THE    1'OTIl'HAK    PAPERS. 

The  supper  over,  the  young  people  attended  by 
their  matrons  descended  to  the  dancing-room  for 
the  "  German/'  This  is  a  dance  commencing 
usually  at  midnight  or  a  little  after,  and  contin 
uing  indefinitely  toward  daybreak.  The  young 
people  were  attended  by  their  matrons,  who  were 
there  to  supervise  the  morals  and  manners  of 
their  charges.  To  secure  the  performance  of  this 
duty,  the  young  people  took  good  care  to  sit 
where  the  matrons  could  'not  see  them,  nor  did 
they,  by  any  chance,  look  toward  the  quarter  in 
which  the  matrons  sat.  In  that  quarter,  through 
all  the  varying  mazes  of  the  prolonged  dance,  to 
two  o'clock,  to  three,  to  four,  sat  the  bediamonded 
dowagers,  the  mothers,  the  matrons, — against  na 
ture,  against  common  sense.  They  babbled  with 
each  other,  they  drowsed,  they  dozed.  Their  fans 
fell  listless  into  their  laps.  In  the  adjoining  room, 
out  of  the  waking  sight,  even,  of  the  then  sleep 
ing  mammas,  the  daughters  whirled  in  the  close 
embrace  of  partners  who  had  brought  down  bot 
tles  of  champagne  from  the  supper-room,  and 
put  them  by  the  side  of  their  chairs  for  occa 
sional  refreshment  during  the  dance.  The  dizzy 


"OUR   BEST  SOCIETY."  27 

hours  staggered  by — "Azalia,  you  must  come 
now,"  had  been  already  said  a  dozen  times,  but 
only  as  by  the  scribes.  Finally  it  was  declared 
with  authority.  Azalia  went, — Amelia — Arabella. 
The  rest  followed.  There  was  prolonged  cloak 
ing,  there  were  lingering  farewells.  A  few  papas 
were  in  the  supper-room,  sitting  among  the  debris 
of  game.  A  few  young  non-dancing  husbands 
sat  beneath  gas  unnaturally  bright,  reading  what 
ever  chance  book  was  at  hand,  and  thinking  of 
the  youno;  child  at  home  waiting  for  mamma 

\J  O 

who  was  dancing  the  "  German"  below.  A  few 
exhausted  matrons  sat  in  the  robing-room,  tired, 
sad,  wishing  Jane  would  come  up;  assailed  at 
intervals  by  a  vague  suspicion  that  it  was  not 
quite  worth  while;  wondering  how  it  was  they 
used  to  have  such  good  times  at  balls;  yawn 
ing,  and  looking  at  their  watches ;  while  the 
regular  beat  of  the  music  below,  with  sardonic 
sadness,  continued.  At  last  Jane  came  up,  had 
had  the  most  glorious  time,  and  went  down  with 
mamma  to  the  carriage,  and  so  drove  home. 
Even  the  last  Jane  went — the  last  noisy  youth 
was  expelled,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Potiphar  hav- 


28  THE   POTII'HAR   TAPERS. 

ing  duly  performed  their  biennial  social  duty, 
dismissed  the  music,  ordered  the  servants  to 
count  the  spoons,  and  an  hour  or  two  after 
daylight  went  to  bed.  Enviable  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Potiphar ! 

We  are  now  prepared  for  the  great  moral  in 
dignation  of  the  friend  who  saw  us  eating  our 
dinde  anx  truffes  in  that  remarkable  supper-room. 
We  are  waiting  to  hear  him  say  in  the  most 
moderate  and  "  gentlemanly"  manner,  that  it  is 
all  very  well  to  select  flaws  and  present  them 
as  specimens,  and  to  learn  from  him,  possibly 
with  indignant  publicity,  that  the  present  con 
dition  of  parties  is  not  what  we  have  intimated. 
Or,  in  his  quiet  and  pointed  way,  he  may  smile 
at  our  fiery  assault  upon  edged  flounces  and  nuga 
pyramids,  and  the  kingdom  of  Lilliput  in  general. 

Yet,  after  all,  and  despite  the  youths  who  are 
led  out,  and  carried  home,  or  who  stumble  through 
the  "  German,"  this  is  a  sober  matter.  My  friend 
told  us  we  should  see  the  "best  society."  But  he 
is  a  prodigious  wag.  Who  make  this  country? 
From  whom  is  its  character  of  unparalleled  en 
terprise,  heroism  and  success  derived?  Who 


"OUR  BEST  SOCIETY."  29 

have  given  it  its  place  in  the  respect  and  the 
fear  of  the  world?  Who,  annually,  recruit  its 
energies,  confirm  its  progress,  and  secure  its  tri 
umph?  "Wlio  are  its  characteristic  children,  the 
pith,  the  sinew,  the  bone  of  its  prosperity  ?  Who 
found,  and  direct,  and  continue  its  manifold  in 
stitutions  of  mercy  and  education  ?  Who  are, 
essentially,  Americans?  Indignant  friend,  these 
classes,  whoever  they  may  be,  are  the  "  best 
society,"  because  they  alone  are  the  representa 
tives  of  its  character  and  cultivation.  They  are 
the  "  best  society"  of  New  York,  of  Boston,  of 
Baltimore,  of  St.  Louis,  of  New  Orleans,  whether 
they  live  upon  six  hundred  or  sixty  thousand 
dollars  a  year — whether  they  inhabit  princely 
houses  in  fashionable  streets  (which  they  often 
do),  or  not — whether  their  sons  have  graduated 
at  Celarius'  and  the  Jardin  Mabille,  or  have  never 
been  out  of  their  fathers'  shops — whether  they 
have  "  air"  and  "  style,"  and  are  "  so  gentle 
manly"  and  "  so  aristocratic,"  or  not.  Your  shoe 
maker,  your  lawyer,  your  butcher,  your  clergy 
man — if  they  are  simple  and  steady,  and,  whether 
rich  or  poor,  are  unseduced  by  the  sirens  of  ex- 


80  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

travngance  and  ruinous  display,  help  make  up 
the  "best  society."  For  that  mystic  communion 
is  not  composed  of  the  rich,  but  of  the  worthy ; 
and  is  "best"  by  its  virtues,  and  not  by  its  vices. 
When  Johnson,  Burke,  Goldsmith,  Garrjek,  Rey 
nolds,  and  their  friends,  met  at  supper  in  Gold 
smith's  rooms,  where  was  the  "best  society''  in 
England?  "When  George  the  Fourth  outraged 
humanity  and  decency  in  his  treatment  of  Queen 
Caroline,  who  was  the  first  scoundrel  in  Europe  ? 

Pause  yet  a  moment,  indignant  friend.  Whose 
habits  and  principles  would  ruin  this  country  ns 
rapidly  as  it  has  been  made?  Who  arc  enamored 
of  a  puerile  imitation  of  foreign  splendors  ?  Who 
strenuously  endeavor  to  graft  the  questionable 
points  of  Parisian  society  upon  our  own  ?  Who 
pass  a  few  years  in  Europe  and  return  skeptical 
of  republicanism  and  human  improvement,  long 
ing  and  sighing  for  more  sharply  emphasized 
social  distinctions?  Who  squander  with  pro 
fuse  recklessness  the  hard-earned  fortunes  of  their 
sires  ?  Who  diligently  devote  their  time  to  noth 
ing,  foolishly  and  wrongly  supposing  that  a  young 
English  nobleman  has  nothing  to  do?  Who,  in 


"  OUR   BEST  SOCIETY."  31 

fine,  evince  by  their  collective  conduct,  that  they 
regard  their  Americanism  as  a  misfortune,  and 
are  so  the  most  deadly  enemies  of  their  coun 
try?  None  but  what  our  wag  facetiously  termed 
"the  best  society." 

If  the  reader  doubts,  let  him  consider  its  prac 
tical  results  in  any  great  emporium  of  "  best 
society."  Marriage  is  there  regarded  as  a  luxury, 
too  expensive  for  any  but  the  sons  of  rich  men, 
or  fortunate  young  men.  We  once  heard  an 
eminent  divine  assert,  and  only  half  in  sport, 
that  the  rate  of  living  was  advancing  so  in 
credibly,  that  weddings  in  his  experience  were 
perceptibly  diminishing.  The  reasons  might 
have  been  many  and  various.  But  we  all 
acknowledge  the  fact.  On  the  other  hand, 
and  about  the  same  time,  a  lovely  damsel  (ah! 
Clorinda!)  whose  father  was  not  wealthy,  who 
had  no  prospective  means  of  support,  who  could 
do~  nothing  but  polka  to  perfection,  who  literally 
knew  almost  nothing,  and  who  constantly  shocked 
every  fairly  intelligent  person  by  the  glaring 
ignorance  betrayed  in  her  remarks,  informed  a 
friend  at  one  of  the  Saratoga  balls,  whither  he 


32  THE   POTIPIIAR   PAPERS. 

had  made  haste  to  meet  "  the  best  society,"  that 
there  were  "  not  more  than  three  good  matches 
in  society !"  La  Dame  aux  CameUas,  Marie 
Duplessis,  was,  to  our  fancy,  a  much  more 
feminine,  and  admirable,  and  moral,  and  human 
person,  than  the  adored  Clorinda.  And  yet  what 
she  said  was  the  legitimate  result  of  the  state  of 
our  fashionable  society.  It  worships  wealth,  and 
the  pomp  which  wealth  can  purchase,  more  than 
virtue,  genius,  or  beauty.  AVe  may  be  told  that 
it  has  always  been  so  in  every  country,  and  that 
the  fine  society  of  all  lands  is  as  profuse  and 
flashy  as  our  own.  "We  deny  it,  flatly.  Neither 
English,  nor  French,  nor  Italian,  nor  German 
society,  is  so  unspeakably  barren  as  that  which 
is  technically  called  "  society"  here.  In  London, 
and  Paris,  and  Vienna,  and  Rome,  all  the  really 
eminent  men  and  women  help  make  up  the 
mass  of  society.  A  party  is  not  a  mere  ball, 
but  it  is  a  congress  of  the  wit,  beauty,  and 
fame  of  the  capital.  It  is  worth  while  to  dress, 
if  you  shall  meet  Macaulay,  or  Hallam,  or  Guizot, 
or  Thiers,  or  Landseer,  or  Delaroche, — Mrs.  Nor 
ton,  the  Misses  Berry,  Madame  Recamier,  and  all 


"OUR  BEST  SOCIETY."  33 

the  brilliant  women  and  famous  foreigners.  But 
why  should  we  desert  the  pleasant  pages  of  those 
men,  and  the  recorded  gossip  of  those  women, 
to  be  squeezed  flat  against  a  wall,  while  young 
Doughface  pours  oyster-gravy  down  our  shirt- 
front,  and  Caroline  Pettitoes  wonders  at  "Mr. 
Diisseldorf  V  industry  ? 

If  intelligent  people  decline  to  go,  you  justly 
remark,  it  is  their  own  fault.  Yes,  but  if  they 
stay  away  it  is  very  certainly  their  great  gain. 
The  elderly  people  are  always  neglected  with 
us,  and  nothing  surprises  intelligent  strangers 
more,  than  the  tyrannical  supremacy  of  Young 
America.  But  we  are  not  surprised  at  this  neg 
lect.  How  can  we  be  if  we  have  our  eyes  open  ? 
When  Caroline  Pettitoes  retreats  from  the  floor 
to  the  sofa,  and  instead  of  a  "polker"  figures 
at  parties  as  a  matron,  do  you  suppose  that 
"tough  old  Joes"  like  ourselves,  are  going  to 
desert  the  young  Caroline  upon  the  floor,  for 
Madame  Pettitoes  upon  the  sofa?  If  the  pretty 
young  Caroline,  with  youth,  health,  freshness,  a 
fine,  budding  form,  and  wreathed  in  a  semi-trans 
parent  haze  of  flounced  and  flowered  gauze,  is 

9* 


84  THE   rOTIPIIAR   PAPERS. 

so  vapid  that  we  prefer  to  accost  her  with  our 
eyes  alone,  and  not  with  our  tongues,  is  the 
same  Caroline  married  into  a  Madame  Pettitoes, 
and  fanning  herself  upon  a  sofa, — no  longer  par 
ticularly  fresh,  nor  young,  nor  pretty,  and  no 
longer  budding  but  very  fully  blown, — likely 
to  be  fascinating  in  conversation?  "We  cannot 
wonder  that  the  whole  connection  of  Pettitoes, 
when  advanced  to  the  matron  state,  is  entirely 
neglected.  Proper  homage  to  age  we  can  all 
pay  at  home,  to  our  parents  and  grandparents. 
Proper  respect  for  some  persons  is  best  pre 
served  by  avoiding  their  neighborhood. 

And  what,  think  you,  is  the  influence  of  this 
extravagant  expense  and  senseless  show  upon 
these  same  young  men  and  women  ?  "We  can 
easily  discover.  It  saps  their  noble  ambition, 
assails  their  health,  lowers  their  estimate  of  men 
and  their  reverence  for  women,  cherishes  an 
eager  and  aimless  rivalry,  weakens  true  feeling, 
wipes  away  the  bloom  of  true  modesty,  and  in 
duces  an  ennui,  a  satiety,  and  a  kind  of  dilettante 
misanthropy,  which  is  only  the  more  monstrous 
because  it  is  undoubtedly  real.  You  shall  hear 


"OUR  BEST  SOCIETY.  35 

young  men  of  intelligence  and  cultivation,  to 
whom  the  unprecedented  circumstances  of  this 
country  offer  opportunities  of  a  great  and  bene 
ficent  career,  complaining  that  they  were  born 
within  this  blighted  circle — regretting  that  they 
were  not  bakers  and  tallow-chandlers,  and  under 
no  obligation  to  keep  up  appearances — deliber 
ately  surrendering  all  the  golden  possibilities  of 
that  Future  which  this  countr}r,  beyond  all  others, 
holds  before  them — sighing  that  they  are  not 
rich  enough  to  marry  the  girls  they  love,  and 
bitterly  upbraiding  fortune  that  they  are  not  mil- 
lionnaires — suffering  the  vigor  of  their  years  to 
exhale  in  idle  wishes  and  pointless  regrets — dis 
gracing  their  manhood  by  lying  in  wait  behind 
their  "so  gentlemanly"  and  "aristocratic"  man 
ners,  until  they  can  pounce  upon  a  "fortune"  and 
ensnare  an  heiress  into  matrimony :  and  so  hav 
ing  dragged  their  gifts,  their  horses  of  the  sun, 
into  a  service  which  shames  out  of  them  al) 
their  native  pride  and  power,  they  sink  in  the 
mire,  and  their  peers  and  emulators  exclaim  that 
they  have  "  made  a  good  tiling  of  it." 

Are  these  the  processes  by  which  a  noble  race 


36  THE   POTIPHAR  PAPERS. 

is  made  and  perpetuated  ?  At  Mrs.  Potiphar's 
we  heard  several  Pendennises  longing  for  a  simi 
lar  luxury,  and  announcing  their  firm  purpose, 
never  to  have  wives  nor  houses,  until  they  could 
have  them  as  splendid  as  jewelled  Mrs.  Potiphar, 
and  her  palace,  thirty  feet  front.  Where  were 
their  heads  and  their  hearts,  and  their  arms  ? 
How  looks  this  craven  despondency,  before  the 
stern  virtues  of  the  ages  we  call  dark  ?  When 
a  man  is  so  voluntarily  imbecile  as  to  regret  he 
is  not  rich,  if  that  is  what  he  wants,  before  he 
has  struck  a  blow  for  wealth  ;  or  so  dastardly 
as  to  renounce  the  prospect  of  love,  because,  sit 
ting  sighing,  in  velvet  dressing-gown  and  slippers, 
he  docs  not  see  his  way  clear  to  ten  thousand 
a  year;  when  young  women  coiffed  a  merveille, 
of  unexceptionable  "style,"  who,  with  or  with 
out  a  prospective  penny,  secretly  look  down  upon 
honest  women  who  struggle  for  a  livelihood,  like 
noble  and  Christian  beings,  and,  as  such,  are  re 
warded  ;  in  whose  society  a  man  must  forget 
that  he  has  ever  read,  thought  or  felt;  who  de 
stroy  in  the  mind,  the  fair  ideal  of  woman,  which 
the  genius  of  art  and  poetry,  and  love,  their 


"OUR  BEST  SOCIETY."  37 

inspirer,  has  created;  then  it  seems  to  us,  it  is 
high  time  that  the  subject  should  be  regarded 
not  as  a  matter  of  breaking  butterflies  upon  the 
wheel,  but  as  a  sad  and  sober  question,  in  whose 
solution,  all  fathers  and  mothers,  and  the  state 
itself,  are  interested.  When  keen  observers,  and 
men  of  the  world,  from  Europe,  are  amazed  and 
appalled  at  the  giddy  whirl  and  frenzied  rush 
of  our  society — a  society  singular  in  history,  for 
the  exaggerated  prominence  it  assigns  to  wealth, 
irrespective  of  the  talents  that  amassed  it,  they 
and  their  possessor  being  usually  hustled  out  of 
sight — is  it  not  quite  time  to  ponder  a  little  upon 
the  Court  of  Louis  XIV.,  and  the  "  merrie  days" 
of  King  Charles  II.  ?  Is  it  not  clear  that,  if  what 
our  good  wag,  with  caustic  irony,  called  "best 
society,"  were  really  such,  every  thoughtful  man 
would  read  upon  Mrs.  Potiphar's  softly-tinted 
walls,  the  terrible  "mene,  mene"  of  an  immi 
nent  destruction  ? 

Venice  in  her  purple  prime  of  luxury,  when 
the  famous  law  was  passed,  making  all  gondolas 
black,  that  the  nobles  should  not  squander  for 
tunes  upon  them,  was  not  more  luxurious  than 


38  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

New  York  to-day.  Our  hotels  have  a  superfi 
cial  splendor,  derived  from  a  profusion  of  gilt 
and  paint,  wood  and  damask.  Yet,  in  not  one 
of  them  can  the  traveller  be  so  quietly  com 
fortable  as  in  an  English  Inn,  and  nowhere  in 
Xew  York  can  the  stranger  procure  a  dinner, 
at  once  so  neat  and  elegant,  and  economical,  as 
at 'ECO res  of  Cafes  in  Paris.  The  fever  of  display 
has  consumed  comfort.  A  gondola  plated  with 
gold  was  no  easier  than  a  black  wooden  one. 
We  could  well  spare  a  little  gilt  upon  the  walls, 
for  more  cleanliness  upon  the  public  table;  nor 
is  it  worth  while  to  cover  the  walls  with  mirrors 
to  reflect  a  want  of  comfort.  One  prefers  a 
wooden  bench  to  a  greasy  velvet  cushion,  and 
a  sanded  floor  to  a  soiled  and  threadbare  car 
pet.  An  insipid  uniformity  is  the  Procrustes-bed, 
upon  which  "society"  is  stretched.  Every  new 
house  is  the  counterpart  of  every  other,  with 
the  exception  of  more  gilt,  if  the  owner  can 
afford  it.  The  interior  arrangement,  instead  of 
being  characteristic,  instead  of  revealing  some 
thing  of  the  tastes  and  feelings  of  the  owner,  is 
rigorously  conformed  to  every  other  interior. 


"OUR  BEST  SOCIETY."  39 

The  same  hollow  and  tame  complaisance  rules 
in  the  intercourse  of  society.  Who  dares  say 
precisely  what  he  thinks  upon  a  great  topic? 
What  youth  ventures  to  say  sharp  things,  of 
slavery,  for  instance,  at  a  polite  dinner-table  ? 
What  girl  dares  wear  curls,  when  Martelle  pre 
scribes  puffs  or  bandeaux?  What  specimen  of 
Young  America  dares  have  his  trowsers  loose  or 
wear  straps  to  them  ?  We  want  individuality, 
heroism,  and,  if  necessary,  an  uncompromising 
persistence  in  difference. 

This  is  the  present  state  of  parties.  They 
are  wildly  extravagant,  fall  of  senseless  display; 
they  are  avoided  by  the  pleasant  and  intelligent, 
and  swarm  with  reckless  regiments  of  "Brown's 
men."  The  ends  cf  the  earth  contribute  their 
choicest  products  to  the  supper,  and  there  is 
every  thing  that  wealth  can  purchase,  and  all 
the  spacious  splendor  that  thirty  feet  front  can 
afford.  They  are  hot,  and  crowded,  and  glaring. 
There  is  a  little  weak  scandal,  venomous,  not 
witty,  and  a  stream  of  weary  platitude,  morti 
fying  to  every  sensible  person.  Will  any  of 
our  Pendennis  friends  intermit  their  indignation 


40  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

for  a  moment,  and  consider  how  many  good 
things  they  have  said  or  heard  during  the  season? 
If  Mr.  Potiphar's  eyes  should  chance  to  fall  here, 
will  he  reckon  the  amount  of  satisfaction  and 
enjoyment  he  derived  from  Mrs.  Potiphar's  ball, 
and  will  that  lady  candidly  confess  what  she 
gained  from  it  beside  weariness  and  disgust  ? 
What  eloquent  sermons  we  remember  to  have 
heard  in  which  the  sins  and  the  sinners  of  Baby 
lon,  Jericho  and  Gomorrah  were  scathed  with 
holy  indignation.  The  cloth  is  very  hard  upon 
Cain,  and  completely  routs  the  erring  kings 
of  Judah.  The  Spanish  Inquisition,  too,  gets 
frightful  knocks,  and  there  is  much  eloquent 
exhortation  to  preach  the  gospel  in  the  interior 
of  Siam.  Let  it  be  preached  there,  and  God 
speed  the  word.  But  also  let  us  have  a  text  or 
two  in  Broadway  and  the  Avenue. 

The  best  sermon  ever  preached  upon  society, 
within  our  knowledge,  is  "  Vanity  Fair."  Is 
the  spirit  of  that  story  less  true  of  New  York 
than  of  London  ?  Probably  we  never  see  Amelia 
at  our  parties,  nor  Lieutenant  George  Osborne, 
nor  good  gawky  Dobbin,  nor  Mrs.  Rebecca  Sharp 


"OUR  BEST  SOCIETY."  41 

Crawley,  nor  old  Steyne.  "We  are  very  much 
pained,  of  course,  that  any  author  should  take 
such  dreary  views  of  human  nature.  We,  for 
our  parts,  all  go  to  Mrs.  Potiphar's  to  refresh 
our  faith  in  men  and  women.  Generosity,  amia 
bility,  a  catholic  charity,  simplicity,  taste,  sense, 
high  cultivation,  and  intelligence,  distinguish  our 
parties.  The  statesman  seeks  their  stimulating 
influence ;  the  literary  man,  after  the  day's  labour, 
desires  the  repose  of  their  elegant  conversation ; 
the  professional  man  and  the  merchant  hurry 
up  from  down  town  to  shuffle  off  the  coil  of 
heavy  duty,  and  forget  the  drudgery  of  life  in 
the  agreeable  picture  of  its  amenities  and  graces 
presented  by  Mrs.  Potiphar's  ball.  Is  this  ac 
count  of  the  matter,  or  "Vanity  Fair,"  the  satire? 
What  are  the  prospects  of  any  society  of  which 
that  tale  is  the  true  history? 

There  is  a  picture  in  the  Luxembourg  gallery 
at  Paris,  "  The  Decadence  of  the  Eomans,"  which 
made  the  fame  and  fortune  of  Couture,  the  painter. 
It  represents  an  orgie  in  the  court  of  a  temple, 
during  the  last  days  of  Rome.  A  swarm  of 
revellers  occupy  the  middle  of  the  picture, 


42  THE   POTIPIIAR   PAPERS. 

wreathed  in  elaborate  intricacy  of  luxurious  pos 
ture,  men  and  women  intermingled;  their  faces, 
in  which  the.  old  Roman  fire  scarcely  flickers, 
brutalized  with  excess  of  every  kind;  their  heads 
of  dishevelled  hair  bound  with  coronals  of  leaves, 
while,  from  goblets  of  an  antique  grace,  they 
drain  the  fiery  torrent  which  is  destroying  them. 
Around  tne  bacchanalian  feast  stand,  lofty  upon 
pedestals,  the  statues  of  old  Rome,  looking  with 
marble  calmness  and  the  severity  of  a  rebuke 
beyond  words  upon  the  revellers.  A  youth  of 
boyish  grace,  with  a  wreath  woven  in  his  tangled 
hair,  and  with  red  and  drowsy  eyes,  sits  listless 
upon  one  pedestal,  while  upon  another  stands  a 
boy,  insane  with  drunkenness,  and  proffering  a 
dripping  goblet  to  the  marble  mouth  of  the  statue. 
In  the  corner  of  the  picture,  as  if  just  quitting 
the  court — Rome  finally  departing — is  a  group 
of  Romans  with  care-worn  brows,  and  hands 
raised  to  their  faces  in  melancholy  meditation. 
In  the  foreground  of  the  picture,  which  is  painted 
with  all  the  sumptuous  splendor  of  Venetian  art, 
is  a  stately  vase,  around  which  hangs  a  festoon 
of  gorgeous  flowers,  its  end  dragging  upon  the 


"OUR  BEST   SOCIETY."  43 

pavement.  In  the  background,  between  the  col 
umns,  smiles  the  blue  sky  of  Italy — the  only 
thing  Italian  not  deteriorated  by  time.  The 
careful  student  of  this  picture,  if  he  has  been 
long  in  Paris,  is  some  day  startled  by  detecting, 
especially  in  the  faces  of  the  women  represented, 
a  surprising  likeness  to  the  women  of  Paris,  and 
perceives,  with  a  thrill  of  dismay,  that  the  models 
for  this  picture  of  decadent  human  nature  are 
furnished  by  the  very  city  in  which  he  lives. 


II. 


,  anJr  ©tljtr 


LETTER  FROM  MRS.  POTJPHAR  TO  MISS 
CAROLINE  PETTITOES. 


©»r  fto  ITitojj,  attfr  o%r  Cjfittjs. 


A    LETTER    FROM    MRS.    POTIPHAR   TO    MISS    CAROLINE 
PETTITOES. 


NEW  YORK,  April. 

MY  DEAR  CAROLINE, — Lent  came  so  fright 
fully  early  this  year,  that  I  was  very  much  afraid 
my  new  bonnet  d  I'lmperatrice  would  not  be  out 
from  Paris  soon  enough.  But  fortunately  it  ar 
rived  just  in  time,  and  I  had  the  satisfaction 
of  taking  down  the  pride  of  Mrs.  Croesus,  who 
fancied  hers  would  be  the  only  stylish  hat  in 
church  the  first  Sunday.  She  could  not  keep 
her  eyes  away  from  me,  and  I  sat  so  unmoved, 
and  so  calmly  looking  at  the  Doctor,  that  she 
was  quite  vexed.  But,  whenever  she  turned 
away,  I  ran  my  eyes  over  the  whole  congrega 
tion,  and  would  you  believe  that,  almost  with- 


•±8  THE    POT1PIIAR   PAPERS. 

out  mi  exception,  people  liad  their  old  things? 
However,  I  suppose  they  forgot  how  soon  Lent 
was  coining.  As  I  was  passing  out  of  church, 
Mrs.  Croesus  brushed  by  me: 

"Ah!"  said  she,  "good  morning.  Why,  bless 
me!  you've  got  that  pretty  hat  I  saw  at  Law- 
sou's.  Well,  now,  it's  really  quite  pretty ;  Law- 
son  has  some  taste  left  yet  ; — what  a  lovely 
sermon  the  Doctor  gave  us.  By  the  by,  did 
you  know  that  Mrs.  Gnu  has  actually  bought 
the  blue  velvet?  It's  too  bad,  because  I  wanted 
to  cover  my  prayer-book  with  blue,  and  she 
sits  so  near,  the  effect  of  my  book  will  be  quite 
spoiled.  Dear  me !  there  she  is  beckoning  to 
me :  good-bye,  do  come  and  see  us ;  Tuesdays, 
you  know.  Well,  Lawson  really  does  very 
well." 

I  was  so  mad  with  the  old  thing,  that  I  could 
not  help  catching  her  by  her  mantle  and  hold 
ing  on  while  I  whispered  loud  enough  for  every 
body  to  hear: 

"Mrs.  Croesus,  you  see  I  have  just  got  my 
bonnet  from  Paris.  It's  made  after  the  Empress's. 
If  you  would  like  to  have  yours  made  over  in 


OUR  NEW   LIVERY,    ETC.  49 

the  fashion,  dear  Mrs.  Croesus,  I  shall  be  so  glad 
to  lend  you  mine," 

"  No,  thank  you,  dear,"  said  she,  "  Lawson 
won't  do  for  me.  Bye-bye." 

And  so  she  slipped  out,  and,  I've  no  doubt, 
told  Mrs.  Gnu  that  she  had  seen  my  bonnet  at 
Lawson's.  Isn't  it  too  bad  ?  Then  she  is  so 
abominably  cool.  Somehow,  when  I'm  talking 
with  Mrs.  Croesus,  who  has  all  her  own  things 
made  at  home,  I  don't  feel  as  if  mine  came  from 
Paris  at  all.  She  has  such  a  way  of  looking  at 
you,  that  it's  quite  dreadful.  She  seems  to  be 
saying  in  her  mind,  "La!  now,  well  done,  lit 
tle  dear."  And  I  think  that  kind  of  mental 
reservation  (I  think  that's  what  they  call  it)  is 
an  insupportable  impertinence.  However,  I  don't 
care,  do  you  ? 

I've  so  many  things  to  tell  you  that  I  hardly 
know  where  to  begin.  The  great  thing  is  the 
livery,  but  I  want  to  come  regularly  up  to  that, 
and  forget  nothing  bv  the  wav.  I  was  imcer- 

o          »/  \j 

hJn  for  a  long  time  how  to  have  my  prayer-book 
bound.  Finally,  after  thinking  about  it  a  great 
deal,  I  concluded  to  have  it  done  in  pale  blue 


50  TilE    POTII'IIAK    PAPERS. 

velvet,  with  gold  clasp?,  and  a  gold  cross  upon 
the  side.  To  b?  sure,  it's  nothing  very  ne\v. 
But  what  is  new  now-a-days?  Sally  Shrimp  has 
had  hers  done  in  emerald,  and  I  know  Mrs. 
Croesus  will  have  crimson  for  hers,  and  those 
people  who  sit  next  us  in  church  (I  wonder 
who  they  are;  it's  very  unpleasant  to  sit  next 
to  people  vou  don't  know:  and,  positively,  that 
girl,  the  dark-haired  one  with  large  eyes,  carries 
the  same  muff  she  did  lost,  year;  it's  big  enough 
for  a  family)  have  a  kind  of  brown  morocco 
binding.  I  must  tell  you  one  reason  why  I  fixed 
upon  the  pale  blue.  You  know  that  aristocratic- 
looking  young  man,  in  white  cravat  and  black 
pantaloons  and  waistcoat,  whom  we  saw  at  Sara 
toga  a  year  ago,  and  who  alwavs  had  such  a. 
beautiful  sanctimonious  look,  and  such  small 
white  hands;  well,  he  is  a  minister,  as  we  sup 
posed,  u  an  unworthy  candidate,  an  unprofitable 
husbandman,"  as  he  calls  himself  in  that  delicious 
voice  of  his.  He  has  been  quite  taken  up  among 
us.  He  has  been  asked  a  good  deal  to  dinner, 
and  there  was  hope  of  his  being  settled  as  col 
league  to  the  Doctor,  only  Mr.  Potiphar  (who 


OL'K   NEW   LIVERY,    ETC.  51 

can  be  stubborn,  you  know)  insisted  that  the  Rev. 
Cream  Cheese,  though  a  very  good  young  man, 
he  didn't  doubt,  was  addicted  to  candlesticks. 
I  suppose  that's  something  awful.  But,  could 
you  believe  any  thing  awful  of  him?  I  asked 
Mr.  Potiphar  what  he  meant  by  saying  such 
things. 

"I  mean,"  said  he,  "that  he's  a  Puseyite,  and 
I've  no  idea  of  being  tied  to  the  apron-strings 
of  the  Scarlet  Woman." 

Dear  Caroline,  who  is  the  Scarlet  Woman  ? 
Dearest,  tell  me,  upon  your  honor,  if  you  have 
ever  heard  any  scandal  of  Mr.  Potiphar. 

"  What  is  it  about  candlesticks  ?"  said  I  to 
Mr.  Potiphar.  "  Perhaps  Mr.  Cheese  finds  gas 
too  bright  for  his  eyes ;  and  that's  his  misfor 
tune,  not  his  fault." 

"  Polly,"  said  Mr.  Potiphar,  who  will  call  me 
Polly,  although  it  sounds  so  very  vulgar,  "please 
not  to  meddle  with  things  you  don't  understand. 
You  may  have  Cream  Cheese  to  dinner  as  much 
as  you  choose,  but  I  will  not  have  him  in  the 
pulpit  of  my  church." 

"  The  same  day,  Mr.  Cheese  happened  in  about 


52  TMK    rOTIPHAR    PAPERS. 

lunch-time,  and  I  asked  him  if  his  eyes  were 
really  weak. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  he,  ''why  do  you  ask?" 

Then  I  told  him  that  I  had  heard  he  was  so 
fond  of  candlesticks. 

Ah !  Caroline,  you  should  have  seen  him  then. 
He  stopped  in  the  midst  of  pouring  out  a  glass 
of  Mr.  P.'s  best  old  port,  and  holding  the  de 
canter  in  one  hand,  and  the  glass  in  the  other, 
he  looked  so  beautifully  sad,  and  said  in  that 
sweet  low  voice: 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Potiphar,  the  blood  of  the  martyrs 
is  the  seed  of  the  church."  Then  he  filled  up 
his  glass,  and  drank  the  wine  off  with  such  a 
mournful,  resigned  air,  and  wiped  his  lips  so 
gently  with  his  cambric  handkerchief  (I  saw 
that  it  was  a  hem-stitch),  that  I  had  no  voice  to 
ask  him  to  take  a  bit  of  the  cold  chicken,  which 
he  did,  however,  without  my  asking  him.  But 
when  he  said  in  the  same  low  voice,  "A  little 
more  breast,  dear  Mrs.  Potiphar,"  I  was  obliged 
to  run  into  the  drawing-room  for  a  moment,  to 
recover  myself. 

Well,  after  he  had  lunched,  I  told  him  that 


OUR   NEW   LIVERY,    ETC.  53 

I  wished  to  take  his  advice  upon  something 
connected  with  the  church,  (for  a  prayer-book 
is,  you  know,  dear,)  and  he  looked  so  sweetly 
at  me,  that,  would  you  believe  it,  I  almost  wished 
to  be  a  Catholic,  and  to  confess  three  or  four 
times  a  week,  and  to  have  him  for  my  confessor. 
But  it's  very  wicked  to  wish  to  be  a  Catholic, 
and  it  wasn't  real  much,  you  know :  but  somehow 
I  thought  so.  When  I  asked  him  in  what  velvet 
he  would  advise  me  to  have  my  prayer-book 
bound,  he  talked  beautifully  for  about  twenty 
minutes.  I  wish  you  could  have  heard  him. 
I'm  not  sure  that  I  understood  much  of  what 
he  said — how  should  I? — but  it  was  very  beau 
tiful.  Don't  laugh,  Carrie,  but  there  was  one 
thing  I  did  understand,  and  which,  as  it  came 
pretty  often,  quite  helped  me  through :  it  was, 
"Dear  Mrs.  Potiphar;"  you  can't  tell  how  nicely 
he  says  it.  He  began  by  telling  me  that  it  was 
very  important  to  consider  all  the  details  and 
little  things  about  the  church.  He  said  they 
\vere  all  Timbales  or  Cymbals — or  something  of 
that  kind ;  and  then  he  talked  very  prettily  about 
the  stole,  and  the  violet  and  scarlet  capes  of  the 


54  TIIK    POTIPHAR    PAPERS. 

cardinals,  and  purple  chasubles,  and  the  lace 
edge  of  the  Pope's  little  short  gown  ;  and — do 
you  know  it  was  very  funny — but  it  seemed  to 
me,  somehow,  as  if  I  was  talking  with  Portier 
or  Florinc  Lefevre,  except  that  he  used  such 
beautiful  words.  Well,  by  and  by,  he  said: — 

"Therefore,  dear  Mrs.  Potiphar,  as  your  faith 
is  so  pure  and  childlike,  and  as  1  observe  that 
the  light  from  the  yellow  panes  usual! v  falls 
across  your  pew,  I  would  advise  that  you 
cymbalize  your  faith  (wouldn't  that  be  noisv 
in -church?)  by  binding  your  prayer-book  in 
pale  blue;  the  color  of  skim-milk,  dear  Mrs. 
Potiphar,  which  is  so  full  of  pastoral  associa 
tions." 

Why  did  he  emphasize  the  word  "pastoral?" 
Do  you  wonder  that  I  like  Cream  Cheese,  dear 
Caroline,  when  he  is  so  gentle  and  religious — 
and  such  a  pretty  religion  too!  For  he  is  not 
only  well-dressed,  and  lias  such  aristocratic 
hands  and  feet,  in  the  parlor,  but  he  is  so  per 
fectly  gentlemanly  in  the  pulpit.  lie  never 
raises  his  voice  too  loud,  and  he  has  such 
wavy  gestures.  Mr.  Potiphar  says  that  may  be 


OUR   NEW    LIVERY,    ETC.  55 

all  very  true,  but  lie  knows  perfect!}'  well  that 
he  has  A  hankering  for  artificial  flowers,  and 
that,  for  his  part,  he  prefers  the  Doctor  to  any 
preacher  he  ever  heard ;  "  because,"  he  says, 
"  I  can  go  quietly  to  sleep,  confident  that  he 
will  say  nothing  that  might  not  be  preached 
from  every  well-regulated  pulpit ;  whereas,  if 
we  should,  let  Cream  Cheese  into  the  desk,  I 
should  have  to  keep  awake  to  be  on  the  look 
out  for  some  of  these  new-fangled  idolatries : 
and,  Polly  Potiphar,  I,  for  one,  am  determined 
to  have  nothing  to  do  Avith  the  Scarlet  Wo 
man/' 

Darling  Caroline— I  don't  care  much— but  did 
he  ever  have  anything  to  do  witli  a  Scarlet 
Woman  ? 

After  he  said  that  about  artificial  flowers,  I 
ordered  from  Martelle  the  sweetest  sprig  of  im 
mortelle  he  had  in  his  shop,  and  sent  it  anony 
mously  on  St.  Valentine's  day.  Of  coarse  I 
didn't  wish  to  do  anything  secret  from  my  hus 
band,  that  might  make  people  talk,  so  I  wrote — 
"  Reverend  Cream  Cheese  ;  from  his  grateful  Skim- 
milk."  I  marked  the  last  words,  and  hope  he 


56  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

understood  that  I  meant  to  express  my  thanks 
for  his  advice  about  the  pale-blue  cover.  You 
don't  think  it  was  too  romantic,  do  you,  dear? 

You  can  imagine  how  pleasantly  Lent  is  pass 
ing  since  I  see  so  much  of  him :  and  then  it  is 
so  appropriate  to  Lent  to  be  intimate  with  a 
minister.  He  goes  with  me  to  church  a  great 
deal;  for  Mr.  Potiphar,  of  course,  has  no  time 
for  that,  except  on  Sundays;  and  it  is  really 
delightful  to  see  such  piety.  He  makes  the  re 
sponses  in  the  most  musical  manner;  and  when 
he  kneels  upon  entering  the  pew,  he  is  the  admi 
ration  of  the  whole  church.  He  buries  his  face 
entirely  in  a  cloud  of  cambric  pocket-handker 
chief,  with  his  initial  embroidered  at  the  corner ; 
and  his  hair  is  beautifully  parted  down  behind, 
which  is  very  fortunate,  as  otherwise  it  would 
look  so  badly  when  only  half  his  head  showed. 
I  feel  so  good  when  I  sit  by  his  side ;  and  when 
the  Doctor  (as  Mr.  P.  says)  "blows  up"  those 
terrible  sinners  in  Babylon  and  the  other  Bible 
towns,  I  always  find  the  Rev.  Cream's  eyes  fixed 
upon  me,  with  so  much  sweet  sadness,  that  I 
am  very,  very  sorry  for  the  naughty  people  the 


OUR  NEW   LIVERY,    ETC.  57 

Doctor  talks  about.  Why  did  they  do  so,  do  you 
suppose,  dear  Caroline  ?  How  thankful  we  ought 
to  be  that  we  live  now  with  so  many  churches, 
and  such  fine  ones,  and  with  such  gentlemanly 
ministers  as  Mr.  Cheese.  And  how  nicely  it's 
arranged  that,  after  dancing  and  dining  for  two 
or  three  months  constantly,  during  which,  of 
course,  we  can  only  go  to  church  Sundays,  there 
comes  a  time  for  stopping,  when  we're  tired  out, 
and  for  going  to  church  every  day,  and  (as  Mr. 
P.  says)  "striking  a  balance;"  and  thinking  about 
being  good,  and  all  those  things.  "We  don't  lose 
a  great  deal,  you  know.  It  makes  a  variety,  and 
we  all  see  each  other,  just  the  same,  only  we  don't 
dance.  I  do  think  it  would  be  better  if  we  took 
our  lorgnettes  with  us,  however,  for  it  was  only 
last  Wednesday,  at  nine  o'clock  prayers,  that  I 
saw  Sheena  Silke  across  the  church,  in  their  little 
pew  at  the  corner,  and  I  am  sure  that  she  had 
a  new  bonnet  on ;  and  yet,  though  I  looked  at 
it  all  the  time,  trying  to  find  out,  prayers  were 
fairly  over  before  I  discovered  whether  it  was 
really  new,  or  only  that  old  white  one  made 

over  with   a  few  new  flowers.     Now,  if  I  had 
8* 


58  THE    POTIPHAR    PAPERS. 

had  my  glass,  I  could  have  told  in  a  moment, 
and  shouldn't  have  been  obliged  to  lose  all  the 
prayers. 

But,  as  1  was  saying,  those  poor  old  people  in 
Babylon  and  Nineveh!  only  think,  if  they  had 
had  the  privilege  of  prayers  for  six  or  seven 
weeks  in  Lent,  and  regular  preaching  the  rest  of 
the  year,  except,  of  course,  in  the  summer — (by 
the  by,  I  wonder  if  they  all  had  some  kind  of 
Saratoga  or  Newport  to  go  to? — I  mean  to  ask 
Mr.  Cheese) — they  might  have  been  good,  and  all 
have  been  happy.  It's  quite  awful  to  hear  how 
eloquent  and  earnest  the  Doctor  is  when  he 
preaches  against  Babylon.  Mr.  P.  says  he  likes 
to  have  him  "pitch  into  those  old  sinners;  it 
does  'em  so  much  good :"  and  then  he  looks 
quite  fierce.  Mr.  Cheese  is  going  to  read  me 
a  sermon  he  has  written  upon  the  maidenhood 
of  Lot's  wife.  He  says  that  he  quotes  a  great 
deal  of  poetry  in  it,  and  that  I  must  dam  up  the 
fount  of  my  tears  when  he  reads  it,  It  was  an 
odd  expression  for  a  minister,  wasn't  it?  and  I 
was  obliged  to  say,  "  Mr.  Cheese,  yon  forgot  your 
self."  He  replied,  "  Dear  Mrs.  Potiphar,  I  will 


OUR   NEW    LIVERY,    ETC.  59 

explain;"  and  lie  did  so;  so  that  I  admired  him 
more  than  ever. 

Dearest  Caroline, — if  you  should  only  like  him ! 
He  asked  one  day  about  you;  and  when  I  told 
him  what  a  dear,  good  girl  you  are,  he  said : 
"And  her  father  has  worldly  possessions,  has 
he  not?" 

I  answered,  yes;  that  your  father  was  very 
rich.  Then  he  sighed,  and  said  that  he  could 
never  marry  an  heiress  unless  he  clearly  saw  it 
to  be  his  duty.  Isn't  it  a  beautiful  resignation  ? 

I  had  no  idea  of  saying  so  much  about  him, 
but  you  know  it's  proper,  when  writing  a  letter 
in  Lent,  to  talk  about  religious  matters.  And, 
I  must  confess,  there  is  something  comfortable 
in  having  to  do  with  such  things.  Don't  you 
feel  better,  when  you've  been  dancing  all  the 
week,  and  dining,  and  going  to  the  opera,  and 
flirting  and  flying  round,  to  go  to  church  on 
Sundays?  I  do.  It  seems,  somehow,  as  if  we 
ought  to  go.  But  I  do  wish  Mrs.  Crcesus  would 
sit  somewhere  else  than  just  in  front  of  us,  for 
her  new  bonnets  and  her  splendid  collars  and 
capes  make  me  quite  miserable :  ana  then  she 


60  THE   POTIPHAR  PAPERS. 

puts  me  out  of  conceit  of  my  things  by  talking 
about  Lawson,  or  somebody,  as  I  told  you  in 
the  beginning. 

Mr.  Potiphar  has  sent  out  for  the  new  carpets. 
I  had  only  two  spoiled  at  my  ball,  you  know, 
and  that  was  very  little.  One  always  expects 
to  sacrifice  at  least  two  carpets  upon  occasion 
of  seeing  one's  friends.  That  handsome  one  in 
the  supper  room  was  entirely  ruined.  Would 
you  believe  that  Mr.  P.,  when  he  went  down 
stairs  the  next  morning,  found  our  Fred,  and 
his  cousin  hoeing  it  with  their  little  hoes  ?  It 
was  entirely  matted  with  preserves  and  things, 
and  the  boys  said  they  were  scraping  it  clean 
for  breakfast.  The  other  spoiled  carpet  was  in 
the  gentlemen's  dressing-room  where  the  punch 
bowl  was.  Young  Gauche  Boosey,  a  very  gen 
tlemanly  fellow,  you  know,  ran  up  after  polking, 
and  was  so  confused  with  the  light  and  heat 
that  he  went  quite  unsteadily,  and  as  he  was 
trying  to  fill  a  glass  with  the  silver  ladle  (which 
is  rather  hea,vy),  he  somehow  leaned  too  hard 
upon  tne  table,  and  down  went  the  whole  thing, 
table,  bowl,  punch,  and  Boosey,  and  ended  my 


OUR  NEW   LIVERY,    ETC.  61 

poor  carpet.  I  was  sorry  for  that,  and  also  for 
the  bowl,  which  was  a  very  handsome  one,  im 
ported  from  China  by  my  father's  partner — a 
wedding-gift  to  me — and  for  the  table,  a  delicate 
rosewood  stand,  which  was  a  work-table  of  my 
sister  Lucy's — whom  you  never  knew,  and  who 
died  long  and  long  ago.  However,  I  was  amply 
repaid  by  Boosey's  drollery  afterward.  He  is  a 
very  witty  young  man,  and  when  he  got  up 
from  the  floor,  saturated  with  punch  (his  clothes 
I  mean),  he  looked  down  at  the  carpet  and 
said: 

"Well,  I've  given  that  such  a  punch  it  will 
want  some  lemon-aid  to  recover." 

I  suppose  he  had  some  idea  about  lemon  acid 
taking  out  spots. 

But,  the  best  thing  was  what  he  said  to  me. 
He  is  so  droll  that  he  insisted  upon  coming 
down,  and  finishing  the  dance  just  as  he  was. 
The  funny  fellow  brushed  against  all  the  dresses 
in  his  way,  and,  finally,  said  to  me,  as  he  pointed 
to  a  lemon-seed  upon  his  coat : 

"  I  feel  so  very  lemon-choly  for  what  I  have 
done." 


62  THE   POTIPLIAR    PAPERS. 

I  laughed  very  much  (you  were  in  the  other 
room),  but  Mr.  P.  stepped  up  and  ordered  him 
to  leave  the  house.  Boosey  said  he  would  do 
no  such  thing;  and  I  have  no  doubt  we  should 
have  had  a  scene,  if  Mr.  P.  had  not  inarched 
him  straight  to  the  door,  and  put  him  into  a 
carriage,  and  told  the  driver  where  to  take 
him.  Mr.  P.  was  red  enough  when  he  came 
back. 

"No  man  shall  insult  me  or  my  guests,  by 
getting  drunk  in  my  house,"  said  he ;  and  he 
has  since  asked  me  not  to  invite  Boosey  nor 
"any  of  his  kind,"  as  he  calls  them,  to  our 
house.  However,  I  think  it  will  pass  over.  I 
tell  him  that  all  young  men  of  spirit  get  a  lit 
tle  excited  with  wine  sometimes,  and  he  mustn't 
be  too  .hard  upon  them. 

"Madame,"  said  he  to  me,  the  first  time  I 
ventured  to  say  that,  "  no  man  with  genuine 
self-respect  ever  gets  drunk  twice;  and,  if  you 
had  the  faintest  idea  of  the  misery  which  a  lit 
tle  elegant  intoxication  has  produced  in  scores 
of  families  that  you  know,  you  would  never 
insinuate  again  that  a  little  excitement  from 


OUR   NEW   LI  VERY,    ETC.  63 

\vine  is  an  agreeable  thing.  There's  your  friend 
Airs.  Croesus  (he  thinks  she's  my  friend,  because 
we  call  each  other  '  dear' !) ;  she  is  delighted  to 
be  a  fashionable  woman,  and  to  be  described  as 
the  'peerless  and  accomplished  Mrs.  C-oe-s,'  in 
letters  from  the  Watering-places  to  the  Herald ; 
but  I  tell  you,  if  any  thing  of  the  woman  or 
the  mother  is  left  in  the  fashionable  Mrs.  Croesus, 
I  could  wring  her  heart  as  it  never  was  wrung — 
and  never  shall  be  by  me — by  showing  her  the 
places  that  young  Timon  Croesus  haunts,  the 
people  with  whom  he  associates,  and  the  drunken 
ness,  gambling,  and  worse  dissipations  of  which 
he  is  guilty. 

"Timon  Croesus  is  eighteen  or  nineteen,  or, 
perhaps,  twenty  years  old ;  and,  Polly,  I  tell  you, 
ho  is  actually  blase,  worn  out  with  dissipation, 
the  companion  of  blacklegs,  the  chevalier  of 
Cyprians,  tipsy  every  night,  and  haggard  every 
morning.  Timon  Croesus  is  the  puny  caricature 
of  a  man,  mentally,  morally,  and  physically.  He 
gets  'elegantly  intoxicated'  at  your  parties;  he 
goes  off  to  sup  with  Gauche  Boosey;  you  and 
Mrs.  Croesus  think  them  young  men  of  spirit, — 


6-i  THE   POTIPUAR   PAPERS. 

it  is  an  exhilarating  case  of  sowing  wild-oats,  you 
fancy, — and  when,  at  twenty-five,  Timon  Croesus 
stands  ruined  in  the  world,  without  aims  or  capac 
ities,  without  the  esteem  of  a  single  man  or  his 
own  self-respect — youth,  health,  hope,  and  energy, 
all  gone  for  ever — then  you  and  your  dear  Mrs. 
Croesus  will  probably  wonder  at  the  horrible  har 
vest.  Mrs.  Potiphar,  ask  the  Rev.  Cream  Cheese 
to  omit  his  sermon  upon  the  maidenhood  of  Lot's 
wife,  and  preach  from  this  text :  '  They  that  sow 
the  wind  shall  reap  the  whirlwind.'  Good  heav 
ens!  Polly,  fancy  our  Fred,  growing  up  to  such 
a  life!  I'd  rather  bury  him  to-morrow!'' 

I  never  saw  Mr.  P.  so  much  excited.  He  fairly 
put  his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes,  and  I  really 
believe  he  cried !  But  I  think  lie  exaggerates 
these  things:  and  as  he  had  a  very  dear  friend 
who  went  worse  and  worse,  until  he  died  fright 
fully,  a  drunkard,  it  is  not  strange  he  should 
speak  so  warmly  about  it.  But  as  Mrs.  Crcesus 
says: 

"What  can  you  do?  You  can't  curb  these 
boys,  you  don't  want  to  break  their  spirits,  you 
don't  want  to  make  them  milk-sops." 


OUR  NEW   LIVEEY,    ETC.  65 

When  I  repeated  the  speech  to  Mr.  P.,  he  said 
to  me  with  a  kind  of  solemnity : 

"  Tell  Mrs.  Croesus  that  I  am  not  here  to  judge 
nor  dictate :  but  she  may  be  well  assured,  that 
every  parent  is  responsible  for  every  child  of  his 
to  the  utmost  of  the  influence  he  can  exert, 
whether  he  chooses  to  consider  himself  so  or 
not;  and  if  not  now,  in  this  world,  yet  some 
where  and  somehow,  he  must  hear  and  heed 
the  voice  that  called  to  Cain  in  the  garden, 
'  Where  is  Abel,  thy  brother?' " 

I  can't  bear  to  hear  Mr.  P.  talk  in  that  way ; 
it  sounds  so  like  preaching.  Not  precisely  like 
what  I  hear  at  church,  but  like  what  we  mean 
when  we  say  "preaching,"  without  referring  to 
any  particular  sermon.  However,  he  grants  that 
young  Timon  is  an  extreme  case :  but,  he  says, 
it  is  the  result  that  proves  the  principle,  and  a 
state  of  feeling  which  not  only  allows,  but  indi 
rectly  fosters,  that  result,  is  frightful  to  think  of. 

"Don't  think  of  it,  then,  Mr.  P.,"  said  I.  He 
looked  at  me  for  a  moment  with  the  sternest 
scowl  I  ever  saw  upon  a  man's  face,  then  he 
suddenly  ran  up  to  me,  and  kissed  me  on  the 


66  THE    POTIl'IIAK    1'AI'KKS. 

forehead  (although  my  hair  was  all  dressed  for 
Mrs.  Gnu's  dinner),  and  went  out  of  the  house. 
lie  hasn't  said  much  to  me  since,  but  he  speaks 
very  gently  when  he  docs  speak,  and  sometimes 
I  catch  him  looking  at  me  in  such  a  singular 
way,  so  half  mournful,  that  Mr.  Cheese's  eyes 
don't  seem  so  very  sad,  after  all. 

However,  to  return  to  the  party,  I  believe 
nothing  else  was  injured  except  the  curtains  in 
the  front  drawing-room,  which  were  so  smeared 
with  ice-cream  and  oyster  gravy,  that  we  must 
get  new  ones;  and  the  cover  of  my  porcelain 
tureen  was  broken  by  the  servant,  though  the 
man  said  he  really  didn't  mean  to  do  it,  and  I 
could  say  nothing;  and  a  party  of  young  men, 
after  the  German  Cotillon,  did  let  fall  that  superb 
cut-glass  Claret,  and  shivered  it,  with  a  do/en  of 
the  delicately  engraved  straw-stems  that  stood 
upon  the  waiter.  That  was  all,  I  believe — oh ! 
except  that  fine  "  Dresden  Gallery,"  the  most 
splendid  book  I  ever  saw,  full  of  engravings  of 
the  great  pictures  in  Dresden,  Vienna,  and  the 
other  Italian  towns,  and  which  was  sent  to  Mr. 
P.  by  an  old  friend,  an  artist,  whom  he  had 


OUR   NEW    LIVERY,    ETC.  67 

helped  along  when  he  was  very  poor.  Some 
body  unfortunately  tipped  over  a  bottle  of  claret 
that  stood  upon  the  table,  (I  am  sure,  I  don't 
know  how  it  got  there,  though  Mr.  P.  says  Gauche 
Boosey  knows,)  and  it  lay  soaking  into  the  book, 
so  that  almost  every  picture  has  a  claret  stain, 
which  looks  so  funny.  I  am  very  sorry,  I  am 
sure,  but,  as  T  tell  Mr.  P.,  it's  no  use  crying  for 
spilt  milk.  I  was  telling  Mr.  Boosey  of  it  at 
the  Gnus'  dinner.  He  laughed  very  much,  and 
when  I  said  that  a  good  many  of  the  faces  were 
sadly  stained,  he  said  in  his  droll  way,  "  You 
ought  to  call  it  U  opera,  di  Bordeaux ;  Le  Domino 
rouge."  I  supposed  it  was  something  funny,  so 
I  laughed  a  good  deal.  He  said  to  me  later: 

"Shall  I  pour  a  little  claret  into  your  book 
—I  mean  into  your  glass?" 

Wasn't  it  a  pretty  bon-mot? 

Don't  you  think  we  are  getting  verv  spirituel 
in  this  country  ? 

I  believe  there  was  nothing  else  injured  except 
the  bed-hangings  in  the  back-room,  which  were 
somehow  badly  burnt  and  very  much  torn  in 
pulling  down,  and  a  few  of  our  handsomest 


68  THE    POTIPHAK    PAPERS. 

shades  that  were  cracked  by  tlie  heat,  and  a 
few  plates,  which  it  was  hardly  fair  to  expect 
wouldn't  be  broken,  and  the  colored  glass  door 
in  my  escritoire,  against  which  Flattie  Podge 
fell  as  she  was  dancing  with  Gauche  Boosey ; 
but  he  may  have  been  a  little  excited  you 
know,  and  she,  poor  girl,  couldn't  help  tum 
bling,  and  as  her  head  hit  the  glass,  of  course 
it  broke,  and  cut  her  head  badly,  so  that  the 
blood  ran  down  and  naturally  spoiled  her 
dress ;  and  what  little  escritoire  could  stand 
against  Flattie  Podge?  So  that  went,  and  was 
a  good  deal  smashed  in  falling.  That's  all,  I 
think,  except  that  the  next  day  Mrs.  Croesus 
Sent  a  note,  saying  that  she  had  lost  her  largest 
diamond  from  her  necklace,  and  she  was  sure 
that  it  was  not  in  the  carriage,  nor  in  her  own 
house,  nor  upon  the  sidewalk,  for  she  had  care 
fully  looked  every  where,  and  she  would  be  very 
glad  if  I  would  return  it  by  the  bearer. 

Think  of  that! 

Well,  we  hunted  every  where,  and  found  no 
diamond.  I  took  particular  pains  to  ask  the 
servants  if  they  had  found  it,  for  if  they  had, 


OUR  NEW   LIVERY,    ETC.  69 

they  might  as  well  give  it  up  at  once,  without 
expecting  any  reward  from  Mrs.  Croesus,  who 
wasn't  very  generous.  But  they  all  said  they 
hadn't  found  any  diamond :  and  our  man  John, 
who  you  know  is  so  guileless, — although  it  was 
a  little  mysterious  about  that  emerald  pin  of 
mine, — brought  me  a  bit  of  glass  that  had  been 
nicked  out  of  my  large  custard  dish,  and  asked 
me  if  that  was  not  Mrs.  Croesus's  diamond.  I 
told  him  no,  and  gave  him  a  gold  dollar  for 
his  honesty.  John  is  an  invaluable  servant ; 
he  is  so  guileless. 

Do  you  know  I  am  not  so  sure  about  Mrs. 
Croesus's  diamond! 

Mr.  P.  made  a  great  growling  about  the  ball. 
But  it  was  very  foolish,  for  he  got  safely  to  bed 
by  six  o'clock,  and  he  need  have  no  trouble 
about  replacing  the  curtains,  and  glass,  &c.  I 
shall  do  all  that,  and  the  sum  total  will  be 
sent  to  him  in  a  lump,  so  that  he  can  pay  it. 

Men  are  so  unreasonable.  Fancy  us  at  seven 
o'clock  that  morning,  when  I'  retired.  He  wasn't 
asleep.  But  whose  fault  was  that? 

"Polly,"  said  he,  "that's  the  last." 


(0  TI1E    POT1PHAK    PAPERS. 

"Last  what?"  said  I. 

"  Last  ball  at  my  house,"  said   he. 

"Fiddle-dee-dee,"  said  I. 

"  I  tell  you,  Mrs.  Potiphar,  I  am  not  going  to 
open  my  house  for  a  crowd  of  people  who 
don't  go  away  till  daylight;  who  spoil  my 
books  and  furniture ;  who  involve  me  in  a 
foolish  expense ;  for  a  gang  of  rowdy  boys, 
who  drink  my  Margaux,  and  Lafitte,  and  Mar- 
cobrunner,  (what  kind  of  drinks  are  those,  dear 
Caroline?)  and  who  don't  know  Chambertin 
from  liquorice- water, — for  a  swarm  of  persons 
few  of  whom  know  me,  fewer  still  care  for  me, 
and  to  whom  1  am  only  '  Old  Potiphar,'  the 
husband  of  you,  a  fashionable  woman.  I  am 
simply  resolved  to  have  no  more  such  tom 
foolery  in  my  house." 

"Dear  Mr.  P.,"  said  I,  "you'll  feel  much 
better  when  you  have  slept.  Besides,  why  do 
you  say  such  things  ?  Mustn't  we  see  our 
friends,  I  should  like  to  know ;  and  if  we  do, 
are  you  going  to  let  your  wife  receive  them  in 
a  manner  inferior  to  old  Mrs.  Podge  or  Mrs. 
Crossus?  People  will  accuse  you  of  meanness, 


OUR  NEW    LIVERY,    ETC.  71 

and  of  treating  me  ill ;  and  if  some  persons 
hear  that  you  have  reduced  your  style  of  liv 
ing,  they  will  begin  to  suspect  the  state  of  your 
affairs.  Don't  make  any  rash  vows,  Mr.  P.," 
said  I,  "  but  go  to  sleep." 

(Do  you  know  that  speech  was  just  what  Mrs. 
Croesus  told  me  she  had  said  to  her  husband 
under  similar  circumstances?) 

Mr.  P.  fairly  groaned,  and  I  heard  that  short, 
strong  little  word  that  sometimes  inadvertently 
drops  out  of  the  best  regulated  mouths,  as 
young  Gooseberry  Downe  sa}rs  when  he  swears 
before  his  mother.  Do  you  know  Mrs.  Settum 
Downe  ?  Charming  woman,  but  satirical. 

Mr.  P.  groaned,  and  said  some  more  ill-na 
tured  things,  until  the  clock  struck  nine,  and 
he  was  obliged  to  get  up.  I  should  be  sorry 
to  say  to  any  body  but  you,  dearest,  that  I 
was  rather  glad  of  it;  for  I  could  then  fall 
asleep  at  my  ease ;  and  these  little  connubial 
felicities  (I  think  they  call  them)  are  so  tire 
some.  But  every  body  agreed  it  was  a  beauti 
ful  ball ;  and  I  had  the  great  gratification  of 
hearing  young  Lord  Mount  Ague  (you  know 


72  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

you  danced  with  him,  love)  say  that  it  was 
quite  the  same  thing  as  a  ball  at  Buckingham 
Palace,  except,  of  course,  in  size,  and  the 
number  of  persons,  and  dresses,  and  jewels,  and 
the  plate,  and  glass,  and  supper,  and  wines,  and 
furnishing  of  the  rooms,  and  lights,  and  sonu> 
of  those  things,  which  are  naturally  upon  a 
larger  scale  at  a  palace  than  in  a  private 
house.  But,  he  said,  excepting  such  things,  it 
was  quite  as  fine.  I  am  afraid  Lord  Mount 
Ague  flatters;  just  a  little  bit,  you  know. 

Yes ;  and  there  was  young  Major  Staggers, 
who  said  that  "  Decidedly  it  was  the  party  of 
the  season." 

"  How  odd,''  said  Mrs.  Crcesus,  to  whom  I 
told  it,  and,  I  confess,  with  a  little  pride. 
"  What  a  sympathetic  man  :  that  is,  for  a  mili 
tary  man,  I  mean.  Would  you  believe,  dear 
Mrs.  Potiphar,  that  he  said  precisely  the  same 
thing  to  me  two  days  after  my  ball  ?" 

Now,   Caroline,   dearest,  perhaps  he  did ! 

With  all  these  pleasant  things  said  about 
one's  party,  I  cannot  see  that  it  is  such  a  dis 
mal  thing  as  Mr.  P.  tries  to  make  out.  After 


OUR  NEW   LIVERY,    ETC.  73 

one  of  his  solemn  talks,  I  asked  Mr.  Cheese 
what  he  thought  of  balls,  whether  it  was  so 
very  wicked  to  dance,  and  go  to  parties,  if  one 
only  went  to  Church  twice  a  day  on  Sundays. 
He  patted  his  lips  a  moment  with  his  hand 
kerchief,  and  then  he  said, — and,  Caroline,  you 
can  always  quote  the  Eev.  Cream  Cheese  as 
authority,— 

';Dear  Mrs.  Potiphar,  it  is  recorded  in  Holy 
Scripture  that  the  King  danced  before  the 
Lord." 

Darling,  if  any  thing  should  happen,  I  don't 
believe  he  would  object  much  to  your  dancing. 

What  gossips  we  women  are,  to  be  sure !  I 
meant  to  write  you  about  our  new  livery,  and 
I  am  afraid  I  have  tired  you  out  already.  You 
remember  when  you  were  here,  I  said  that  I 
meant  to  have  a  livery,  for  my  sister  Margaret 
told  me  that  when  they  used  to  drive  in  Hyde 
Park,  with  the  old  Marquis  of  Mammon,  it 
was  always  so  delightful  to  hear  him  say, 

"  Ah !  there  is  Lady  Lobster's  livery." 

It    was     so     aristocratic.      And    in    countries 

where  certain  colors  distinguish  certain  families, 
4 


74  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

and  are  hereditary,  so  to  say,  it  is  convenient 
and  pleasant  to  recognize  a  coat-of-arms,  or  a 
livery,  and  to  know  that  the  representative  of 
a  great  and  famous  family  is  passing  by. 

"  That's  a  Howard,  that's  a  Russell,  that's  a 
Dorset,  that's  de  Colique,  that's  Mount  Ague," 
old  Lord  Mammon  used  to  say  as  the  carriages 
whirled  by.  He  knew  none  of  them  personally, 
I  believe,  except  de  Colique  and  Mount  Ague, 
but  then  it  was  so  agreeable  to  be  able  to  know 
their  liveries. 

Now  why  shouldn't  we  have  the  same  arrange 
ment?  Why  not  have  the  Smith  colors,  and  the 
Brown  colors,  and  the  Black  colors,  and  the  Poti- 
phar  color?,  &c.,  so  that  the  people  might  say, 
"  Ah !  there  go  the  Potiphar  arms." 

There  is  one  difficulty,  Mr.  P.  says,  and  that 
is,  that  he  found  five  hundred  and  sixty -seven 
Smiths  in  the  Directory,  which  might  lead  to 
some  confusion.  But  that  was  absurd,  as  I  told 
him,  because  every  body  would  know  which  of 
the  Smiths  was  able  to  keep  a  carriage,  so  that 
the  livery  would  be  recognized  directly  the  mo 
ment  that  any  of  the  family  were  seen  in  the 


OUR    XEW    LIVEHY,    ETC.  75 

carriage.  Upon  which  he  said,  in  his  provoking- 
way,  "Why  have  any  livery  at  all,  then?"  and  he 
persisted  in  saying  that  no  Smith  was  ever  l/ie 
Smith  for  three  generations,  and  that  he  knew 
at  least  twenty,  each  of  whom  was  able  to  set 
np  his  carriage  and  stand  by  his  colors. 

"But  then  a  livery  is  so  elegant  and  aristo 
cratic,"  said  I,  "and  it  shows  that  a  servant  is 
a  servant." 

That  last  was  a  strong  argument,  and  I  thought 
Mr.  P.  would  have  nothing  to  say  against  it ;  but 
he  rattled  on  for  some  time,  asking  me  what  right 
I  had  to  be  aristocratic,  or,  in  fact,  any  body 
else ; — went  over  his  eternal  old  talk  about  aping 
foreign  habits,  as  if  we  hadn't  a  right  to  adopt  the 
good  usages  of  all  nations,  and  finally  said  that 
the  use  of  liveries  among  us  was  not  only  a  "pure 
peacock  absurdity,"  as  he  called  it,  but  that  no 
genuine  American  would  ever  ask  another  to 
assume  a  menial  badge. 

"  Why  !"  said  I,  "  is  not  an  American  servant  a 
servant  still?'' 

"  Most  undoubtedly,"  he  said ;  "  and  when  a 
man  LS  a  servant,  let  him  serve  faithfullv;  and 


76  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

in  tins  country  especially,  where  to-morrow  he 
may  be  the  served,  and  not  the  servant,  let  him 
not  be  ashamed  of  serving.  But,  Mrs.  Potiphar, 
I  beg  you  to  observe  that  a  servant's  livery  is 
not,  like  a  general's  uniform,  the  badge  of  hon 
orable  service,  but  of  menial  service.  Of  course, 
a  servant  may  be  as  honorable  as  a  general, 
and  his  work  quite  as  necessary  and  well  done. 
But,  for  all  that,  it  is  not  so  respected  nor  cov 
eted  a  situation,  I  believe ;  and,  in  social  esti 
mation,  a  man  suffers  by  wearing  a  livery,  as 
he  never  would  if  he  wore  none.  And  while 
in  countries  in  which  a  man  is  proud  of  being 
a  servant  (as  every  man  may  well  be  of  being 
a  good  one),  and  never  looks  to  any  thing  else, 
nor  desires  any  change,  a  livery  may  be  very 
proper  to  the  state  of  society,  and  very  agreeable 
to  his  own  feelings,  it  is  quite  another  thing  in 
a  society  constituted  upon  altogether  different 
principles,  where  the  servant  of  to-day  is  the 
senator  of  to-morrow.  Besides  that,  which  I 
suppose  is  too  fine-spun  for  you,  livery  is  a 
remnant  of  a  feudal  state,  of  which  we  abolish 
every  trace  as  fast  as  we  can.  That  which  is 


OUR  NEW   LIVERY,    ETC.  77 

represented  by  livery  is  not  consonant  with  our 
principles." 

How  the  man  runs  on,  when  he  gets  going 
this  way !  I  said,  in  answer  to  all  this  flourish, 
that  I  considered  a  livery  very  much  the  thing ; 
that  European  families  had  liveries,  and  Ameri 
can  families  might  have  liveries ; — that  there  was 
an  end  of  it,  and  I  meant  to  have  one.  Besides, 
if  it  is  a  matter  of  family,  I  should  like  to  know 
who  has  a  better  right  ?  There  was  Mr.  Poti- 
phar's  grandfather,  to  be  sure,  was  only  a  skilful 
blacksmith  and  a  good  citizen,  as  Mr.  P.  says, 
who  brought  up  a  family  in  the  fear  of  the 
Lord. 

How  oddly  he  puts  those  things! 

But  my  ancestors,  as  you  know,  are  a  different 
matter.  Starr  Mole,  who  interests  himself  in 
genealogies,  and  knows  the  family  name  and 
crest  of  all  the  English  nobility,  has  "  climbed 
our  family  tree,"  as  Staggers  says,  and  finds  that 
I  am  lineally  descended  from  one  of  those  two 
brothers  who  came  over  in  some  of  those  old 
times,  in  some  of  those  old  ships,  and  settled 
in  some  of  those  old  places  somewhere.  So  you 


78  THE    FOT1PIIAR   PAPERS. 

see,  dear  Caroline,  if  birth  gives  any  one  a  light 
to  coats  of  arms  and  liveries,  and  all  those  things, 
I  feel  myself  sufficiently  entitled  to  have  them. 
But  I  don't  care  anv  thing  about  that.     The 

t/  O 

Gnus,  and  Croesuses,  and  Silkes,  and  the  Settum 
Dowries,  have  their  coats  of  arms,  and  crests,  and 
liveries,  and  I  am  not  going  to  be  behind,  I  tell 
you.  Mr.  P.  ought  to  remember  that  a  great 
many  of  these  families  were  famous  before  they 
came  to  this  country ;  and  there  is  a  kind  of 
interest  in  having  on  your  ring,  for  instance, 
the  same  crest  that  your  ancestor  two  or  three 
centuries  ago  had  upon  her  ring.  One  day  I 
was  quite  wrought  up  about  the  matter,  and  I 
said  as  much  to  him. 

"  Certainly,"  said  lie,  "  certainly  ;  you  are  quite 
right.  If  I  had  Sir  Philip  Sidney  to  my  ancestor. 
I  should  wear  his  crest  upon  my  ring,  and  glory 
in  my  relationship,  and  I  hope  I  should  be  n 
better  man  for  it.  I  wouldn't  put  his  arms 
upon  my  carriage,  however,  because  that  would 
mean  nothing  but  ostentation.  It  would  be 
merely  a  flourish  of  trumpets  to  say  that  I  was 
his  descendant,  and  nobody  would  know  that, 


OUR  NEW   LIVERY,    ETC.  79 

either,  if  my  name  chanced  to  be  Boggs.  In 
my  library  I  might  hang  a  copy  of  the  family 
escutcheon  as  a  matter  of  interest  and  curiosity 
to  myself,  for  I'm  sure  I  shouldn't  understand 
it.  Do  you  suppose  Mrs.  Gnu  knows  what 
yules  argent  are  ?  A  man  may  be  as  proud  of 
his  family,  as  he  chooses,  and,  if  he  has  noble 
ancestors,  with  good  reason.  But  there  is  no 
sense  in  parading  that  pride.  It  is  an  affecta 
tion,  the  more  foolish  that  it  achieves  nothing — 
no  more  credit  at  Stewart's— no  more  real  re 
spect  in  society.  Besides,  Polly,  who  were  Mrs. 
Gnu's  ancestors,  or  Mrs.  Croesus's,  or  Mrs.  Settum 
Downe's?  Good,  quiet,  honest,  and  humble  peo 
ple,  who  did  their  work,  and  rest  from  their 
labors.  Centuries  ago,  in  England,  some  drops 
of  blood  from  'noble'  veins  may  have  mingled 
with  the  blood  of  their  forefathers ;  or  even,  the 
founder  of  the  family  name  may  be  historically 
famous.  What  then  ?  Is  Mrs.  Gnu's  family 
ostentation  less  absurd  ?  Do  you  understand 
the  meaning  of  her  crest,  and  coats  of  arms,  and 
liveries  ?  Do  you  suppose  she  does  herself  ? 
But  in  forty-nine  cases  out  of  fifty,  there  is 


80  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

nothing   but   a   similarity  of  name   upon   which 
'to  found  all  this  flourish  of  aristocracy." 

My  dear  old  Pot  is  getting  rather  prosy, 
Carrie.  So  when  he  had  finished  that  long 
speech,  during  which  I  was  looking  at  the 
lovely  fashion  plates  in  Harper,  I  said : 

"What  colors  do  you  think -I'd  better  have?" 

He  looked  at  me  with  that  singular  ex 
pression,  and  went  out  suddenly,  as  if  he  were 
afraid  he  might  say  something. 

He  had  scarcely  gone  before  I  heard : 
.     "  My  dear  Mrs.  Potiphar,  the  sight  of  you  is 
refreshing  as  Herrnon's  dew." 

I  colored  a  little  ;  Mr.  Cneese  says  such 
things  so  softly.  But  I  said  good  morning, 
and  then  asked  him  about  liveries,  &c. 

He  raised  his  hand  to  his  cravat,  (it  was 
the  most  snowy  lawn,  Carrie,  and  tied  in  a 
splendid  bow.) 

"  Is   not   this  a  livery,  dear  Mrs.  Potiphar  ?" 

And  then  he  went  off  into  one  of  those 
pretty  talks,  in  what  Mr.  P.  calls  "  the  language 
of  artificial  flowers,"  and  wound  np  by  quoting 
Scripture, — "  Servants,  obey  your  masters." 


OUR  NEW   LIVERY,    ETC.  81 

That  was  enough  for  me.  So  I  told  Mr.  Cheese 
that  as  he  had  already  assisted  me  in  colors  Qnce, 
I  should  be  most  glad  to  have  him  do  so  again. 
What  a  time  we  had,  to  be  sure,  talking  of  colors, 
and  cloths,  and  gaiters,  and  buttons,  and  knee- 
breeches,  and  waistcoats,  and  plush,  and  coats, 
and  lace,  and  hatbands,  and  gloves,  and  cravats, 
and  cords,  and  tassels,  and  hats.  Oh!  it  was 
delightful.  You  can't  fancy  how  heartily  the 
Eev.  Cream  entered  into  the  matter.  He  was 
quite  enthusiastic,  and  at  last  he  said,  with  so 
much  expression,  "  Dear  Mrs.  Potiphar,  why  not 
have  a  chasseur?" 

I  thought  it  was  some  kind  of  French  dish  for 
lunch,  so  I  said : 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  but  we  haven't  any  in  the 
house." 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  "  but  you  could  hire  one,  you 
know." 

Then  I  thought  it  must  be  a  musical  instru 
ment — a  Panharmonicon,  or  something  of  that 
kind,  so  I  said  in  a  general  way — 

"  I'm  not  very,  very  fond  of  it." 

"  But  it  would  be  so  fine  to  have  him  standing 

4* 


82  THE    POTIPIIAR    PAPERS. 

on  the  back  of  the  carriage,  his  plumes  "waving  in 
the  wind,  and  his  lace  and  polished  belts  flashing 
in  the  sun,  as  you  whirled  down  Broadway." 

Of  course  I  knew  then  that  he  was  speaking 
of  those  military  gentlemen  who  ride  behind  car 
riages,  especially  upon  the  Continent,  as  Marga 
ret  tells  me,  and  who  in  Paris  are  very  useful 
to  keep  the  savages  and  wild-beasts  at  bay  in 
the  Chamjis  Ely  sees,  for  you  know  they  are  in 
tended  as  a  guard. 

But  I  knew  Mr.  P.  would  be  firm  about 
that,  so  I  asked  Mr.  Cheese  not  to  kindle  my 
imagination  with  the  Chasseur. 

We  concluded  finally  to  have  only  one  full- 
sized  footman,  and  a  fat  driver. 

"  The  corpulence  is  essential,  dear  Mrs.  Poti- 
phar,"  said  Mr.  Cheese.  "  I  have  been  much 
abroad ;  I  have  mingled,  I  trust,  in  good,  which 
is  to  say,  Christian  society :  and  I  must  say,  that 
few  things  struck  me  more  upon  my  return  than 
that  the  ladies  who  drive  very  handsome  car 
riages,  with  footmen,  &c.,  in  livery,  should 
permit  such  thin  coachmen  upon  the  box.  I 
really  believe  that  Mrs.  Settum  Downe's  con  oh- 


OUR  XEW   LIVERY,    ETC.  83 

man  doesn't  weigh  more  than  a  hundred  and 
thirty  pounds,  which  is  ridiculous.  A  lady 
might  as  well  hire  a  footman  with  insufficient 
calves,  as  a  coachman  who  weighs  less  than  two 
hundred  and  ten.  That  is  the  minimum.  Be 
sides,  I  don't  observe  any  wigs  upon  the  coach 
men.  Now,  if  a  lady  sets  up  her  carriage 
with  the  family  crest  and  fine  liveries,  why,  I 
should  like  to  know,  is  the  wig  of  the  coach 
man  omitted,  and  his  cocked  hat  also  ?  It  is 
a  kind  of  shabb}r,  half-ashamed  way  of  doing- 
things — a  garbled  glory.  The  cock-hatted,  knee- 
breeched,  paste-buckled,  horse-hair- wigged  coach 
man,  is  one  of  the  institutions  of  the  aristocracy. 
If  we  don't  have  him  complete,  we  somehow 
make  ourselves  ridiculous.  If  we  do  have  him 
complete,  why,  then" — 

Here  Mr.  Cheese  coughed  a  little,  and  patted 
his  mouth  with  his  cambric.  But  what  he  said 
was  very  true.  I  should  like  to  come  out  with 
the  wig — I  mean  upon  the  coachman ;  it  would 
so  put  down  the  Settum  Downes.  But  I'm  sure 
old  Pot  wouldn't  have  it.  He  lets  me  do  a 
great  deal.  But  there  is  a  line  which  I  feel  he 


81  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

won't  let  me  pass.  I  mentioned  my  fears  to 
Mr.  Cheese. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  Mr.  Potiphar  may  be  right. 
I  remember  an  expression  of  my  carnal  days 
about  'coming  it  too  strong,'  which  seems  to 
me  to  be  applicable  just  here." 

After  a  little  more  talk,  I  determined  to  have 
red  plush  breeches,  with  a  black  cord  at  the  side 
— white  stockings — low  shoes  with  large  buckles 
— a  yellow  waistcoat,  with  large  buttons — lappels 
to  the  pockets — and  a  purple  coat,  very  full  and 
fine,  bound  with  gold  lace — and  the  hat  banded 
with  a  full  gold  rosette.  Don't  you  think  that 
would  look  well  in  Hyde  Park?  And,  darling 
Carrie,  why  shouldn't  we  have  in  Broadway  what 
they  have  in  Hyde  Park  ? 

When  Mr.  P.  came  in,  I  told  him  all  about  it. 
He  laughed  a  good  deal,  and  said,  "What  next?" 
So  I  am  not  sure  he  would  be  so  very  hard  upon 
the  wig.  The  next  morning  I  had  appointed  to 
see  the  new  footman,  and  as  Mr.  P.  went  out 
he  turned  and  said  to  me,  "  Is  your  footman  com 
ing  to-day?" 

"  Yes,"  I  answered. 


OUR  NEW   LIVERY,    ETC.  85 

"  Well,"  said  lie,  "  don't  forget  the  calves.  You 
know  that  every  thing  in  the  matter  of  livery 
depends  upon  the  calves." 

And  he  went  out  laughing  silently  to  himself, 
with — actually,  Carrie — a  tear  in  his  eye. 

But  it  was  true,  wasn't  it  ?  I  remember  in  all 
the  books  and  pictures  how  much  is  said  about 
the  calves.  In  advertisements,  &c.,  it  is  stated 
that  none  but  well-developed  calves  need  apply, 
at  least  it  is  so  in  England,  and,  if  I  have  a  livery, 
I  am  not  going  to  stop  half-way.  My  duty  was 
very  clear.  When  Mr.  Cheese  came  in,  I  said  I 
felt  awkward  in  asking  a  servant  about  his  calves, 
—it  sounded  so  queerly.  But  I  confessed  that  it 
was  necessary. 

"Yes,  the  path  of  duty  is  not  always  smooth, 
dear  Mrs.  Potiphar.  It  is  often  thickly  strewn 
with  thorns,"  said  he,  as  he  sank  back  in  the 
fauteuil,  and  put  down  his  petit  verre  of  Marasquin. 

Just  after  he  had  gone  the  new  footman  was 
announced.  I  assure  you,  although  it  is  ridicu 
lous,  I  felt  quite  nervous.  But  when  he  came 
in,  I  said  calmly — 

"Well,  James,  I  am  glad  you  have  come." 


86  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

"  Please,  ma'am,  my  name  is  Henry,"  said  he. 

I  was  astonished  at  his  taking  me  up  so,  and 
said,  decidedly— 

"  James,  the  name  of  my  footman  is  ahvays 
James.  You  may  call  yourself  what  you  please, 
I  shall  always  call  you  James." 

The  idea  of  the  man's  undertaking  to  arrange 
my  servants'  names  for  me! 

Well,  he  showed  me  his  references,  which 
were  very  good,  and  I  was  quite  satisfied.  But 
there  was  the  terrible  calf  business  that  must 
be  attended  to.  I  put  it  off  a  great  while,  but 
I  had  to  begin. 

"  Well,  James !" — and  there  I  stopped. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  he. 

"I  wish — yes — ah!" — and  I  stopped  again. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  he. 

"James,  I  wish  you  had  come  in  knee- 
breeches." 

"Ma'am?"  said  he  in  great  surprise. 

"In  knee-breeches,  James,"  repeated  I. 

"  What  be  they,  ma'am  ?  what  for,  ma'am  ?" 
said  he,  a  little  frightened,  as  I  thought. 

"Oh!  nothing,  nothing;  but — but — 


OUR   NEW   LIVERY,    ETC.  87 

"  Yes,  ma'am,11  said  James. 

"But — but,  I  want  to  see — to  see — 

"What,- ma'am?"  said  James. 

"  Your  legs,"  gasped  I ;  and  the  path  was 
thorny  enough,  Carrie,  I  can  tell  you.  I  had 
a  terrible  time  explaining  to  him  what  I  meant, 
and  all  about  the  liveries,  &c  Dear  me !  what 
a  pity  these  things  are  not  understood :  and  then 
we  should  never  have  this  trouble  about  ex 
planations.  However,  I  couldn't  make  him  agree 
to  wear  the  livery.  He  said : 

"I'll  try  to  be  a  good  servant,  ma'am,  but  I 
cannot  put  on  those  things  and  make  a  fool  of 
myself.  I  hope  you  won't  insist,  for  I  am  very 
anxious  to  get  a  place." 

Think  of  his  dictating  to  me !  I  told  him 
that  I  did  not  permit  my  servants  to  impose 
conditions  upon  me  (that's  one  of  Mrs.  Croesus's 
sayings),  that  I  was  willing  to  pay  him  good 
wages  and  treat  him  well,  but  that  my  James 
must  wear  my  livery.  He  looked  very  sorry, 
said  that  he  should  like  the  place  very  much, — • 
that  he  was  satisfied  with  the  wages,  and  was 
sure  he  should  please  me,  but  he  could  not  put 


88  THE   POTIPHAR   TAPERS. 

on  those  things.  We  were  both  determined, 
and  so  parted.  I  think  we  were  both  sorry ; 
for  I  should  have  to  go  all  through  the  call- 
business  again,  and  he  lost  a  good  place. 

However,  Caroline,  dear,  I  have  my  livery 
and  my  footman,  and  am  as  good  as  any  body. 
It's  very  splendid  when  I  go  to  Stewart's  to 
have  the  red  plush,  and  the  purple,  and  the 
white  calves  springing  down  to  open  the  door, 
and  to  see  people  look,  and  say,  "  I  wonder 
who  that  is?"  And  every  body  bows  so  nicely, 
and  the  clerks  are  so  polite,  and  Mrs.  Gnu  is 
melting  writh  envy  on  the  other  side,  and  Mrs. 
Croesus  goes  about,  saying,  "Dear  little  woman, 
that  Mrs.  Potiphar,  but  so  weak!  Pity,  pity!" 
And  Mrs.  Settum  Downe  says,  "  Is  that  the 
Potiphar  livery  ?  Ah  !  yes.  Mr.  Potiphar's 
grandfather  used  to  shoe  my  grandfather's  horses !" 
— (as  if  to  be  useful  in  the  world,  were  a  dis 
grace, — as  Mr.  P.  says,)  and  young  Downe,  and 
Boosey,  and  Timon  Crcesus  come  up  and  stand 
about  so  gentlemanly,  and  say,  "  Well,  Mrs.  Poti 
phar,  are  we  to  have  no  more  charming  parties 
this  season?" — and  Boosey  says,  in  his  droll  way, 


OUR    NEW    LIVERY,    ETC.  89 

"Let's  keep  the  ball  a-rolling!"  That  young  man 
is  always  ready  with  a  witticism.  Then  I  step 
out  and  James  throws  open  the  door,  and  the 
young  men  raise  their  hats,  and  the  new  crowd 
says,  "I  wonder  who  that  is!"  and  the  plush, 
and  purple,  and  calves  spring  up  behind,  and 
I  drive  home  to  dinner. 

ISTow,  Carrie,  dear,  isn't  that  nice? 

"Well,  I  don't  know  how  it  is — but  things  are 
so  queer.  Sometimes  when  I  wake  up  in  the 
morning,  in  my  room,  which  I  have  had  tapes 
tried  with  fluted  rose  silk,  and  lie  thinking, 
under  the  lace  curtains ;  although  I  may  have 
been  at  one  of  Mrs.  Gnu's  splendid  parties  the 
night  before,  and  am  going  to  Mrs.  Silke's  to 
dinner,  and  to  the  opera  and  Mrs.  Settum  Downe's 
in  the  evening,  and  have  nothing  to  do  all  day 
but  go  to  Stewart's,  or  Martelle's,  or  Lefevre's, 
and  shop,  and  pay  morning  calls ; — do  you  know, 
as  I  say,  that  sometimes  I  hear  an  old  familiar 
tune  played  upon  a  hand-organ  far  away  in  some 
street,  and  it  seems  to  me  in  that  half  drowsy 
state  under  the  laces,  that  I  hear  the  girls  and 
boys  singing  it  in  the  fields  where  we  used  to  play. 


90  THE    FOTIPHAR    PAPERS. 

It  is  a  kind  of  dream,  I  suppose,  but  often,  as 
I  listen,  I  am  sure  that  I  hear  Henry's  voice 
again  that  used  to  ring  so  gayly  among  the-  old 
trees,  and  I  walk  with  him  in  the  sunlight  to  the 
bank  by  the  river,  and  he  throws  in  the  flower 
— as  he  really  did — and  says,  with  a  laugh,  "  If 
it  goes  this  side  of  the  stump  I  am  saved;  if 
the  other,  I  am  lost ;"  and  then  he  looks  at  me 
as  if  I  had  any  thing  to  do  with  it,  and  the  flower 
drifts  slowly  off  and  off,  and  goes  the  other  side 
of  the  old  stump,  and  we  walk  homeward  silently, 
until  Henry  laughs  out,  and  says,  "Thank  heaven, 
my  fate  is  not  a  flower;"  and  I  swear  to  love  him 
for  ever  and  ever,  and  marry  him,  and  live  in  a 
dingy  little  old  room  in  some  of  the  dark  and 
dirty  streets  in  the  city. 

Then  I  doze  again  :  but  presently  the  music 
steals  into  my  sleep,  and  I  sec  him  as  I  saw  him 
last,  standing  in  his  pulpit,  so  calm  and  noble, 
and  drawing  the  strong  men  as  well  as  the  weak 
women  by  his  earnest  persuasion;  and  after  ser 
vice  he  smiles  upon  me  kindly,  and  says,  "This 
is  my  wife,"  and  the  wife,  who  looks  like  the 
Madonna  in  that  picture  of  Andrea  Del  Sarto's, 


OUK  NEW   LIVEKY,    ETC.  91 

which  you  liked  so  at  the  gallery,  leads  us  to  a 
little  house  buried  in  roses,  looking  upon  a  broad 
and  lovely  landscape,  and  Henry  whispers  to  me 
as  a  beautiful  boy  bounds  into  the  room,  "Mrs. 
Potiphar,  I  am  very  happy." 

I  doze  again  until  Adele  comes  in  and  opens 
the  shutters.  I  do  not  hear  the  music  any  more ; 
but  those  days  I  do  somehow  seem  to  hear  it  all 
the  time.  Of  course  Mr.  P.  is  gone  long  before  1 
wake,  so  he  knows  nothing  about  all  this.  ] 
generally  come  in  at  night  after  he  is  asleep,  and 
he  is  up  and  has  his  breakfast,  and  goes  down 
town  before  I  wake  in  the  morning.  He  comes 
home  to  dinner,  but  he  is  apt  to  be  silent;  and 
after  dinner  he  takes  his  nap  in  the  parlor  over 
his  newspaper,  while  I  go  up  and  let  Adele  dress 
my  hair  for.  the  evening.  Sometimes  Mr.  P. 
groans  into  a  clean  shirt  and  goes  with  me  to 
the  ball ;  but  not  often.  When  I  come  home,  as 
I  said,  he  is  asleep,  so  I  don't  see  a  great  deal  of 
him,  except  in  the  summer,  when  I  am  at  Sara 
toga  or  Newport;  and  then,  not  so  much,  after  all, 
for  he  usually  only  pass  Sunday,  and  I  must  be 
a  good  Christian,  you  know,  and  go  to  church. 


92  THE   POTIPHAR  PAPERS. 

On  the  whole,  we  have  not  a  very  intimate  ac 
quaintance;  but  I  have  a  great  respect  for  him. 
He  told  me  the  other  day  that  he  should  make  at 
least  thirty  thousand  dollars  this  year. 

My  darling  Carrie — I  am  very  sorry  I  can't 
write  you  a  longer  letter.  I  want  to  consult  you 
about  wearing  gold  powder,  like  the  new  Em 
press.  It  would  kill  Mrs.  Croesus  if  you  and  I 
should  be  the  first  to  come  out  in  it;  and  don't 
you  think  the  effect  would  be  fine,  when  we  were 
dancing,  to  shower  the  gold  mist  around  us ! 
How  it  would  sparkle  upon  the  gentlemen's  black 
coats !  ("  Yes,"  says  Mr.  P.,  "  and  how  finely 
Gauche  Boosey,  and  Timon  Croesus,  and  young 
Downe  will  look  in  silk  tights  and  small-clothes!") 
They  say  its  genuine  gold  ground  up.  I  have 
already  sent  for  a  white  velvet  and  lace — the  Em 
press's  bridal  dress,  you  know.  That  foolish  old 
P.  asked  me  if  I  had  sent  for  the  Emperor  and  the 
Bank  of  France  too. 

"  Men  ask  such  absurd  questions,"  said  I. 

"  Mrs.  Potiphar,  I  never  asked  but  one  utterly 
absurd  question  in  my  life,"  said  he,  and  marched 
out  of  the  house. 


OUR  NEW   LIVERY,    ETC.  93 

Au  revoir,  chdre  Caroline.  I  have  a  thousand 
things  to  say,  but  I  know  you  must  be  tired  to 
death. 

Fondly  yours, 

POLLY  POTIPHAR. 

P.  S. — Our  little  Fred,  is  quite  down  with  the 
scarlet  fever.  Potiphar  says  I  mustn't  expose  my 
self,  so  I  don't  go  into  the  room ;  but  Mrs.  Jollup, 
the  nurse,  tells  me  through  the  keyhole  how  he  is. 
Mr.  P.  sleeps  in  the  room  next  the  nursery,  so  as 
not  to  carry  the  infection  .to  me.  He  looks  very 
solemn  as  he  walks  down  town.  I  hope  it  won't 
spoil  Fred.'s  complexion.  I  should  be  so  sorry  to 
have  him  a  little  fright !  Poor  little  thing ! 

P.  S.  2d. — Isn't  it  funny  about  the  music  ? 


III. 


itation  bj  faitl  f  otipfcar,  (Esq. 


mitation  bg  f  ml  fotijlmr, 


WELL,  my  new  bouse  is  finished — and  so  am 
I.  I  hope  Mrs.  Potiphar  is  satisfied.  Every 
body  agrees  that  it  is  "palatial."  The  daily 
papers  have  had  columns  of  description,  and  I 
am,  evidently,  according,  to  their  authority,  "  mu 
nificent,"  "tasteful,"  "enterprising,"  and  "patri 
otic." 

Amen !  but  what  business  have  I  with  palatial 
residences?  What  more  can  I  possibly  want, 
than  a  spacious,  comfortable  house?  Do  /  want 
buhl  escritoires?  Do  I  want  or  molu  things?  Do 
I  know  any  thing  about  pictures  and  statues  ?  In 
the  name  of  heaven  do  I  want  rose-pink  bed-cur 
tains  to  give  my  grizzly  old  phiz  a  delicate  "  au 
roral  hue,"  as  Cream  Cheese  says  of  Mrs.  P.'s 

complexion?      Because   I  have  made  fifty  thou- 
5 


98  THE    POTIPHAR    PAPERS. 

sand  this  last  year  in  Timbuctoo  bonds,  must  I 
convert  it  all  into  a  house,  so  large  that  it  will 
not  hold  me  comfortably, — so  splendid  that  I 
might  as  \vell  live  in  a  porcelain  vase,  for  the 
trouble  of  taking  care  of  it, — so  prodigiously 
"palatial"  that  I  have  to  skulk  into  my  private 
room,  put  on  my  slippers,  close  the  door,  shut 
myself  up  with  myself,  and  wonder  why  I  mar 
ried  Mrs.  Potiphar  ? 

This  house  is  her  doing.  Before  I  married 
her,  I  would  have  worn  yellow  silk  breeches  on 
'Change  if  she  had  commanded  me — for  love. 
Now  I  would  build  her  two  houses  twice  as 
large  as  this,  if  she  required  it — for  peace.  It's 
all  over.  When  I  came  home  from  China  I  was 
the  desirable  Mr.  Potiphar,  and  every  evening 
was  a  field-day  for  me,  in  which  I  reviewed  all 
the  matrimonial  forces.  It  is  astonishing,  now  I 
come  to  think  of  it,  how  skilfully  Brigadier-Gen 
eral  Mrs.  Pettitoes  deployed  those  daughters  of 
hers;  how  vigorously  Mrs.  Tabby  led  on  her  for 
lorn  hope ;  and  how  unweariedly,  Murat-like,  Mrs. 
DC  Famille  charged  at  the  head  of  her  cavalry. 
They  deserve  to  Ixi  made  Marshals  of  France,  all 


A    MEDITATION    BY    PAUL    POTIPHAK,    ESQ.      90 

of  them.  And  I  am  sure,  that  if  women  ought 
ever  to  receive  honorary  testimonials,  it  is  for 
having  "married  a  daughter  well." 

That's  a  pretty  phrase !  The  mammas  marry, 
the  misses  are  married. 

And  yet,  I  don't  see  why  I  say  so.  I  fear  I 
am  getting  sour.  For  certainly,  Polly's  mother 
didn't  marry  Polly  to  me.  I  fell  in  love  with 
her;  the  rest  followed.  Old  Gnu  says  that  it's 
true  Polly's  mother  didn't  marry  her,  but  she 
did  marry  herself,  to  me. 

"  Do  you  really  think,  Paul  Potiphar,"  said  he, 
a  few  months  ago,  when  I  was  troubled  about 
Polly's  getting  a  livery,  "that  your  wife  was  in 
love  with  you,  a  dry  old  chip  from  China?  Don't 
you  hear  her  say  whenever  any  of  her  friends  arc 
engaged,  that  they  '  have  done  very  well !'  and 
made  a  'capital  match!'  and  have  you  any  doubt 
of  her  meaning  ?  Don't  you  know  that  this  is 
the  only  country  in  which  the  word  '  money' 
must  never  be  named  in  the  young  female  ear; 
and  in  whose  best  society — not  universally  nor 
without  exception,  of  course  not ;  Paul,  don't  be 
a  fool — money  makes  marriages  ?  When  you 


100  THE   POTIPHAR    PAPERS. 

were  engaged,  '  the  world'  said  that  it  was  a 
'capital  thing'  for  Polly.  Did  that  mean  that 
you  were  a  good,  generous,  intelligent,  friendly, 
and  patient  man,  who  would  be  the  companion 
for  life  she  ought  to  have?  You  know,  as  well 
as  I  do,  and  as  all  the  people  who  said  it  know, 
that  it  meant  you  were  worth  a  few  hundred 
thousands,  that  you  could  build  a  splendid  house, 
keep  horses  and  chariots,  and  live  in  style.  You 
and  I  are  sensible  men,  Paul,  and  we  take  the 
world  as  we  find  it ;  and  know  that  if  a  man 
wants  a  good  dinner  he  must  pay  for  it.  We 
don't  quarrel  with  this  state  of  things.  How 
can  it  be  helped?  But  we  need  not  virtuously 
pretend  it's  something  else.  When  my  wife,  be 
ing  then  a  gay  girl,  first  smiled  at  me,  and  looked 
at  me,  and  smelt  at  the  flowers  I  sent  her  in  an 
unutterable  manner,  and  proved  to  me  that  she 
didn't  love  me  by  the  efforts  she  made  to  show 
that  she  did,  why,  I  was  foolishly  smitten  with 
her,  and  married  her.  I  knew  that  she  did  not 
marry  me,  but  sundry  shares  in  the  Patagonia 
and  Nova  Zembla  Consolidation,  and  a  few  hun 
dred  house  lots  upon  the  island.  What  then  ? 


A   MEDITATION   BY   PAUL   POTIPHAK,    ESQ.    101 

I  wanted  her,  she  was  willing  to  take  me, — being 
sensible  enough  to  know  that  the  stock  and  the 
lots  had  an  incumbrance.  Voild  tout,  as  young 
Boosey  says.  Your  wife  wants  you  to  build  a 
house.  You'd  better  build  it.  It's  the  easiest 
way.  Make  up  your  mind  to  Mrs.  Potiphar, 
my  dear  Paul,  and  thank  heaven  you've  no 
daughters  to  be  married  off  by  that  estimable 
woman." 

Why  does  a  man  build  a  house  ?  To  live  in, 
I  suppose — to  have  a  home.  But  is  a  fine  house 
a  home  ?  I  mean,  is  a  "  palatial  residence,"  with 
Mrs.  Potiphar  at  the  head  of  it,  the  "home"  of 
which  we  all  dream  more  or  less,  and  for  which 
we  ardently  long  as  we  grow  older?  A  house, 
I  take  it,  is  a  retreat  to  which  a  man  hurries  from 
business,  and  in  which  he  is  compensated  by  the 
tenderness  and  thoughtful  regard  of  a  woman,  and 
the  play  of  his  children,  for  the  rough  rubs  with 
men.  I  know  it  is  a  silly  view  of  the  case,  but 
I'm  getting  old  and  can't  help  it.  Mrs.  Potiphar 
is  perfectly  right  when  she  says : 

"  You  men  are  intolerable.  After  attending  to 
your  own  affairs  all  day,  and  being  free  from  the 


102  Till-:    POTIf'IIAU    I'AI'EIW. 

fuss  of  housekeeping,  you  expect  to  come  home 
and  shuttle  into  }'our  slippers,  und  snooze  over  the 
evening  paper — if  it  were  possible  to  snooze  over 
the  exciting  nnd  respectable  evening  journal  you 
take — while  we  are  to  sew,  and  talk  with  you  if 
you  are  talkative,  and  darn  the  stockings,  and 
make  tea.  You  come  home  tired,  and  likely 
enough,  surly,  and  gloom  about  like  a  thunder 
cloud  if  dinner  isn't  ready  for  you  the  instant 
you  are  ready  for  it,  and  then  sit  mum  and  eat 
it ;  and  snap  at  the  children,  and  show  yourselves 
the  selfish,  ugly  things  you  are.  Am  /  to  have 
no  fun,  never  go  to  the  opera,  never  go  to  a  ball, 
never  have  a  party  at  home  ?  Men  are  tyrants, 
Mr.  Potiphar.  They  are  ogres  who  entice  us 
poor  girls  into  their  castles,  and  then  eat  up 
our  happiness,  and  scold  us  while  they  eat." 

Well,  I  suppose  it  is  so.  I  suppose  I  am  an 
ogre  and  enticed  Polly  into  my  castle.  But  she 
didn't  find  it  large  enough,  and  teased  me  to 
build  another.  I  suppose  she  does  sit  with  me 
in  the  evening,  and  sew,  and  make  tea,  and  wait 
upon  me.  I  suppose  she  does,  but  I've  not  a 
clear  idea  of  it.  I  know  it  is  unkind  of  me, 


A    MEDITATION    BY   PAUL    POT1PHAR,    ESQ.     103 

when  I  luive  been  hard  at  work  all  day,  trying 
to  make  and  secure  the  money  that  gives  her  and 
her  family  every  thing  they  want,  and  which 
wearies  me  body  and  soul,  to  expect  her  to  let 
me  stay  at  home,  and  be  quiet.  I  know  I  ought 
to  dress  and  go  into  Gnu's  house,  and  smirk  at 
his  wife,  and  stand  up  in  a  black  suit  before  him 
attired  in  the  same  way,  and  talk  about  the  same 
stocks  that  we  discussed  down  town  in  the  morn 
ing  in  colored  trowsers.  That's  a  social  duty,  I 
suppose.  And  I  ought  to  see  various  slight 
young  gentlemen  whirl  my  wife  around  the  room, 
and  hear  them  tell  her  when  they  stop,  that  it's 
very  warm.  That's  another  social  dutj^,  I  sup 
pose.  And  I  must  smile  when  the  same  young 
gentlemen  put  their  elbows  into  my  stomach, 
and  hop  on  iny  feet  in  order  to  extend  the  cir 
cle  of  the  dance.  I'm  sure  Mrs.  P.  is  right.  She 
does  very  right  to  ask,  "Have  we  no  social  duties, 
I  should  like  to  know?" 

And  when  we  have  performed  these  social 
duties  in  Gnu's  house,  how  mean  it  is,  how  "it 
looks,"  not  to  build  a  larger  house  for  him  and 
Mrs.  Gnu  to  come  and  perform  their  social  du- 


101  THE   POT1  I'll  Alt   PAPERS. 

ties  in.  I  give  it  up.  There's  no  doubt  of 
it. 

One  day  Polly  said  to  me : 

"Mr.  Potiphar,  we're  getting  down  town." 

"What  do  you  mean,  my  dear?" 

"  Why,  every  body  is  building  above  us,  and 
there  are  actually  shops  in  the  next  street. 
Singe,  the  pastry-cook,  has  hired  Mrs.  Croesus's 
old  house." 

"I  know  it.  Old  Croesus  told  me  so  some 
time  ago;  and  he  said  how  sorry  he  was  to  go. 
'  Why,  Potiphar,'  said  he,  '  I  really  hoped  when 
I  built  there,  that  I  should  stay,  and  not  go  out 
of  the  house,  finally,  until  I  went  into  no  other. 
I  have  lived  there  long  enough  to  love  the 
place,  and  have  some  associations  with  it ;  and 
my  family  have  grown  up  in  it,  and  love  the 
old  house  too.  It  was  our  home.  When  any 
of  us  said  '  home,'  we  meant  not  the  family 
only,  but  the  house  in  which  the  family  lived, 
where  the  children  were  all  born,  and  where 
two  have  died,  and  my  old  mother,  too.  I'm 
in  a  new  house  now,  and  have  lost  my  reckon 
ing  entirely.  I  don't  know  the  house;  I've  no 


A   MEDITATION   BY   PAUL   POTIPHAR,    ESQ.     105 

associations  with  it.  The  house  is  new,  the 
furniture  is  new,  and  my  feelings  are  new.  It's 
a  farce  for  me  to  begin  again,  in  this  way. 
But  my  wife  says  it's  all  right,  that  every 
body  does  it,  and  wants  to  know  how  it  can  be 
helped;  and,  as  I  don't  want  to  argue  the 
matter,  I  look  amen.'  That's  the  way  Mr. 
Croesus  submits  to  his  new  house,  Mrs.  Poti- 
phar." 

She  doesn't  understand  it.  Poor  child!  how 
should  she  ?  She,  and  Mrs.  Crcesus,  and  Mrs. 
Gnu,  and  even  Mrs.  Settum  Downe,  are  all  as  no 
madic  as  Bedouin  Arabs.  The  Eev.  Cream  Cheese 
says,  that  he  sees  in  this  constant  migration  from 
one  house  to  another,  a  striking  resemblance  to 
the  "  tents  of  a  night,"  spoken  of  in  Scripture. 
He  imparts  this  religious  consolation  to  me 
when  I  grumble.  He  says,  that  it  prevents 
a  too-closely  clinging  affection  to  temporary 
abodes.  One  day,  at  dinner,  that  audacious  wag, 
Boosey,  asked  him  if  the  "many  manthuns" 
mentioned  in  the  Bible,  were  not  as  true  of 
mortal  as  of  immortal  life.  Mrs.  Potiphar  grew 

purple,  and  Mr.  Cheese  looked  at  Boosey  in  the 

c* 


106  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

most  serious  manner  over  the  top  of  his  cham 
pagne-glass.  I  am  glad  to  say  that  Polly  has 
properly  rebuked  Gauche  Boosey  for  his  irre- 
ligion,  by  not  asking  him  to  her  Saturday  even 
ing  matinees  dansantes. 

There  was  no  escape  from  the  house,  however. 
It  must  be  built.  It  was  not  only  Mrs.  Potiphnr 
that  persisted,  but  the  spirit  of  the  age  and  of  the 
country.  One  can't  live  among  shops.  When 
Pearl  street  comes  to  Park  Place,  Park  Place 
must  run  for  its  life  up  to  Thirtieth  street.  I 
know  it  can't  be  helped,  but  I  protested,  and  I 
will  protest.  If  I've  got  to  go,  I'll  have  my 
grumble.  My  wife  says : 

"  I'm  ashamed  of  you,  Potiphar.  Do  you  pre 
tend  to  be  an  American,  and  not  give  way  will 
ingly  to  the  march  of  improvement?  You  had 
better  talk  with  Mr.  Cream  Cheese  upon  the 
'genius  of  the  country.'  You  are  really  unpa 
triotic,  you  show  nothing  of  the  enterprising 
spirit  of  your  time."  "Yes,"  I  answer.  "That's 
pretty  from  you ;  you  are  patriotic,  are  n't  you, 
with  your  liveries  and  illimitable  expenses,  and 
your  low  bows  to  money,  and  your  immense  inti- 


A   MEDITATION   BY   PAUL   POTIPIIAE,    ESQ.    107 

macy  with  all  lords  and  ladies  that  honor  the  city 
by  visiting  it.  You  are  prodigiously  patriotic  with 
your  inane  imitations  of  a  splendor  impossible  to 
you  in  the  nature  of  things.  You  are  the  ideal 
American  woman,  aren't  you,  Mrs.  Potiphar." 

Then  I  run,  for  I'm  afraid  of  myself,  as  much 
as  of  her.  I  am  sick  of  this  universal  plea  of 
patriotism.  It  is  used  to  excuse  all  the  follies  that 
outrage  it.  I  am  not  patriotic  if  I  don't  do  this 
and  that,  which,  if  done,  is  a  ludicrous  caricature 
of  something  foreign.  I  am  not  up  to  the  time  if 
I  persist  in  having  my  own  comfort  in  rny  own 
way.  I  try  to  resist  the  irresistible  march  of  im 
provement,  if  I  decline  to  build  a  great  house, 
which,  when  it  is  built,  is  a  puny  copy  of  a  bad 
model.  I  am  veiy  unpatriotic  if  I  am  not  try 
ing  to  outspend  foreign  noblemen,  and  if  I  don't 
affect,  without  education,  or  taste,  or  habit,  what 
is  only  beautiful,  when  it  is  the  result  of  the  three. 

However,  this  is  merely  my  grumble.  I  knew, 
the  first  morning  Mrs.  Potiphar  spoke  of  a  new 
house,  that  I  must  build  it.  What  she  said  was 
perfectly  true;  wre  were  getting  down  town,  there 
was  no  doubt  of  the  growing  inconvenience  of 


108  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

our  situation.  It  was  becoming  a  dusty,  noisy 
region.  The  congregation  of  the  Kev.  Far  Niente 
had  sold  their  church  and  moved  up  town.  Now 
doesn't  it  really  seem  as  if  we  were  a  cross  between 
the  Arabs  who  dwell  in  tents  and  those  who  live 
in  cities,  for  we  are  migratory  in  the  city  ?  A  di 
rectory  is  a  more  imperative  annual  necessity  here 
than  in  any  other  civilized  region.  My  wife  says 
it  is  a  constant  pleasure  to  her  to  go  round  and  see 
the  new  houses  and  the  new  furniture  of  her  new 
friends,  every  year.  I  saw  that  I  must  submit. 
But  I  determined  to  make  little  occasional  stands 
against  it.  So  one  day  I  said : 

"  Polly,  do  you  know  that  the  wives  of  all  the 
noblemen  who  will  be  your  very  dear  and  inti 
mate  friends  and  models  when  you  go  abroad, 
always  live  in  the  same  houses  in  London,  and 
Paris,  and  Rome,  and  Vienna  ?  Do  you  know 
that  Northumberland  House  is  so  called  because 
it  is  the  hereditary  town  mansion  of  the  Duke, 
and  that  the  son  and  daughter-in-law  of  Lord 
Londonderry  will  live  after  him  in  the  house 
where  his  father  and  mother  lived  before  him? 
Did  that  ever  occur  to  you,  my  dear  ?" 


A   MEDITATION   BY   PAUL   POTIPHAR,    ESQ.    109 

"Mr.  Potiphar,"  she  replied,  "do  you  mean 
to  go  by  the  example  of  foreign  noblemen?  I 
thought  you  always  laughed  at  me  for  what  you 
call  'aping.'" 

"So  I  do,  and  so  I  will  continue  to  do,  Mrs. 
Potiphar ;  only  I  thought  that,  perhaps,  you  would 
like  to  know  the  fact,  because  it  might  make  you 
more  lenient  to  me  when  I  regretted  leaving  our 
old  house  here.  It  has  an  aristocratic  precedent." 

Poor,  dear  little  Mrs.  P. !  It  didn't  take  as 
I  meant  it  should,  and  I  said  no  more.  Yet  it 
does  seem  to  me  a  pity  that  we  lose  all  the  in 
terest  and  advantage  of  a  homestead.  The  house 
and  its  furniture  become  endeared  by  long  resi 
dence,  and  by  their  mute  share  in  all  the  chances 
of  our  life.  The  chair  in  which  some  dear  old 
friend  so  often  sat — father  and  mother,  perhaps — 
and  in  which  they  shall  sit  no  more ;  the  old- 
fashioned  table  with  the  cuts  and  scratches  that 
generations  of  children  have  made  upon  it;  the 
old  book-cases ;  the  heavy  sideboard ;  the  glass, 
from  which  such  bumpers  sparkled  for  those  who 
are  hopelessly  scattered  now,  or  for  ever  gone; 
the  doors  they  opened;  the  walls  that  echoed  their 


110  THE    POTIPIIAK    PAPERS. 

long-hushed  laughter, — are  we  wise  when  we  part 
with  them  all,  or,  when  compelled  to  do  so,  to 
leave  them  eagerly? 

I  remember  my  brother  James  used  to  say  : 
"  What  is  our  envy  for  our  country  friends, 
but  that  their  homes  are  permanent  and  charac 
teristic?  Their  children's  children  may  play  in 
the  same  garden.  Each  annual  festival  may 
summon  them  to  the  old  hearth.  In  the  meet 
ing-house  they  sit  in  the  wooden  pews  where 
long  ago  they  sat  and  dreamed  of  Jerusalem, 
and  now  as  they  sit  there,  that  long  ago  is 
fairer  than  the  holy  city.  Through  the  open 
window  they  see  the  grass  waving  softly  in  the 
summer  air,  over  old  graves  dearer  to  them 
than  many  new  houses.  By  a  thousand  tangible 
and  visible  associations  they  are  still,  with  a  pecu 
liar  sense  of  actuality,  near  to  all  they  love." 
Polly  would  call  it  a  sentimental  whim — if 
she  could  take  Mrs.  Croesus's  advice  before  she 
spoke  of  it — but  what  then  ?  When  I  was 
fifteen,  I  fell  desperately  in  love  with  Lucy 
Lamb.  "  Pooh,  pooh,"  said  my  father,  "  you 
are  romantic,  it's  all  a  whim  of  yours." 


A    MEDITATION    BY    PAUL    POTIPHAR,    ESQ.    Ill 

And  he  succeeded  in  breaking  it  up.  I  went 
to  China,  and  Lucy  married  old  Firkin,  and  lived 
in  a  splendid  house,  and  now  lies  in  a  splendid 
tomb  of  Carrara  marble,  exquisitely  sculptured. 

When  I  was  forty,  I  came  home  from  China, 
and  the  old  gentleman  said,  "  I  want  you  to 
marry  Arabella  Bobbs,  the  heiress.  It  will  be 
a  good  match." 

I  said  to  him. 

"  Pooh,  pooh,  my  dear  father,  you  are  mer 
cenary  ;  it's  all  a  whim  of  yours." 

"  My  dear  son,  I  know  it,"  said  he,  "  the 
whole  thing  is  whim.  You  can  live  on  a 
hundred  dollars  a  year,  if  you  choose.  But 
you  have  the  whim  of  a  good  dinner,  of  a 
statue,  of  a  book.  Why  not?  Only  be  careful 
in  following  your  whims,  that  they  really  come 
to  something.  Have  as  many  whims  as  you 
please,  but  don't  follow  them  all." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  I  ;  and  fell  in  love 
with  the  present  Mrs.  Potiphar,  and  married 
her,  off-hand.  So,  if  she  calls  this  genuine  in 
fluence  of  association  a  mere  whim — let  it  go 
at  that.  She  is  a  whim,  too.  My  mistake 


112  THE   POTIPIIAR   PAPERS. 

simply  was  in  not  following  out  the  romantic 
whim,  and  marrying  Lucy  Lamb.  At  least  it 
seems  to  me  so,  this  morning.  In  fact,  sitting 
in  my  very  new  "  palatial  residence,"  the  whole 
business  of  life  seems  to  me  rather  whimsical. 

For  here  I  am,  come  into  port  at  last.  No 
longer  young, — but  worth  a  good  fortune, — master 
of  a  great  house, — respected  down  town, — hus 
band  of  Mrs.  Potiphar, — and  father  of  Master 
Frederic  ditto.  Per  contra;  I  shall  never  be  in 
love  again, — in  getting  my  fortune  I  have  lost 
my  real  life, — my  house  is  dreary, — Mrs.  Poti 
phar  is  not  Lucy  Lamb, — and  Master  Frederic 
— is  a  good  boy. 

The  game  is  all  up  for  me,  and  yet  I  trust  I 
have  good  feeling  enough  left  to  sympathize 
with  those  who  are  still  playing.  I  see  girls 
as  lovely  and  dear  as  any  of  which  poets  have 
sung — as  fresh  as  dew-drops,  and  beautiful  as 
morning.  I  watch  their  glances,  and  understand 
them  better  than  they  know — for  they  do  not 
dream  that  "old  Potiphar"  does  any  thing  more 
than  pay  Mrs.  P.'s  bills.  I  see  the  youths 
nervous  about  neckcloths,  and  anxious  that 


A   MEDITATION   BY   PAUL   POTIFHAK,    ESQ.    118 

their  hair  shall  be  parted  straight  behind.  I 
see  them  all  wear  the  same  tie,  the  same  trow- 
sers,  the  same  boots.  I  hear  them  all  say  the 
same  thing,  and  dance  with  the  same  partners 
in  the  same  way.  I  see  them  go  to  Europe  and 
return — I  hear  them  talk  slang  to  show  that 
they  have  exhausted  human  life  in  foreign  parts, 
and  observe  them  demean  themselves  according 
to  their  idea  of  the  English  nobleman.  I  watch 
them  go  in  strongly  for  being  "manly,"  and 
"  smashing  the  spoonies" — asserting  intimacies 
with  certain  uncertain  women  in  Paris,  and 
proving  it  by  their  treatment  of  ladies  at  home. 
I  see  them  fuddle  themselves  on  fine  wines  and 
talk  like  cooks,  play  heavily  and  lose,  and  win, 
and  pay,  and  drink,  and  maintain  a  conservative 
position  in  politics,  denouncing  "  Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin,"  as  a  false  and  fanatical  tract ;  and  de 
claring  that  our  peculiar  institutions  are  our 
own  affair,  and  that  John  Bull  had  better  keep 
his  eyes  at  home  to  look  into  his  coal  mines. 
I  see  this  vigorous  fermentation  subside,  and 
much  clear  character  deposited — and,  also,  much 
life  and  talent  muddled  for  ever. 


114  'HIE    rOTUMIAR    PAFEltS. 

It  is  whimsical,  because  this  absurd  spectacle 
is  presented  by  manikins  who  are  made  of  the 
same  clay  as  Plutarch's  heroes — because,  delib 
erately,  they  prefer  cabbages  to  roses.  I  am  not 
at  all  angry  with  them.  On  the  contrary,  when 
they  dance  well  I  look  on  with  pleasure.  Man 
ought  to  dance,  but  he  ought  to  do  something 
else,  too.  All  genial  gentlemen  in  all  ages 
have  danced.  Who  quarrels  with  dancing  ? 
Ask  Mrs.  Potiphar  if  I  ever  objected  to  it. 
But  then,  people  must  dance  at  their  own  risk. 
If  Lucy  Lamb,  by  dancing  with  young  Boosey 
when  he  is  tipsy,  shows  that  she  has  no  self- 
respect,  how  can  I,  coolly  talking  with  Mrs. 
Lamb  in  the  corner,  and  gravely  looking  on, 
respect  the  young  lady  ?  Lucy  tells  me  that 
if  she  dances  with  James  she  must  with  John. 
I  cannot  deny  it,  for  I  am  not  sufficiently  fa 
miliar  with  the  regulations  of  the  mystery. 
Only  this;  if  dancing  with  sober  James  makes 
it  necessary  to  dance  with  tipsy  John — it  seems 
to  me,  upon  a  hasty  glance  at  the  subject,  that 
a  self-respecting  Lucy  would  refrain  from  the 
dance  with  James.  Why  it  should  be  so,  I 


A    MEDITATION    BY    PAUL    POT1PI1AR,    ESQ.     Ho 

cannot  understand.  Why  Lucy  must  dance  with 
every  man  who  asks  her,  whether  he  is  in  his 
senses,  or  knows  how  to  dance,  or  is  agreeable 
to  her  or  not,  is  a  profound  mystery  to  Paul 
Potiphar.  Here  is  a  case  of  woman's  wrongs, 
decidedly.  We  men  cull  the  choicest  partners, 
make  the  severest  selections,  and  the  innocent 
Lucys  gracefully  submit.  Lucy  loves  James, 
and  a  waltz  with  him  (as  P.  P.  knows  very  well 
from  experience)  is  "a  little  heaven  below"  to 
both.  Now,  dearest  Lucy,  why  must  you  pay 
the  awful  penance  of  immediately  waltzing  with 
John,  against  whom  your  womanly  instinct  re 
bels  ?  And  yet  the  laws  of  social  life  are  so 
stern,  that  Lucy  must  make  the  terrible  deci 
sion,  whether  it  is  better  to  waltz  with  James 
or  worse  to  waltz  with  John !  "  Whether,"  to 
put  it  strongly  with  Father  Jerome,  "heaven  is 
pleasantcr  than  hell  is  painful." 

I  say  that  I  watch  these  graceful  gamesters, 
without  bitter  feeling.  Sometimes  it  is  sad  to 
see  James  woo  Lucy,  win  her,  marry  her,  and 
then  both  discover  that  they  have  made  a  mis 
take.  T  don't  see  how  they  could  have  helped 


116  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

it ;  and  when  the  world,  that  loves  them  both 
so  tenderly,  holds  up  its  pure  hands  of  horror, 
why,  Paul  Potiphar  goes  quietly  home  to  Mrs. 
P.,  who  is  dressing  for  Lucy's  ball,  and  says 
nothing.  He  prefers  to  retire  into  his  private 
room,  and  his  slippers,  and  read  the  last  number 
of  Bleak  House,  or  a  chapter  in  Vanity  Fair.  If 
Mrs.  Potiphar  catches  him  at  the  latter,  she  is 
sure  to  say: 

"  There  it  is  again ;  always  reading  those  ex 
aggerated  sketches  of  society.  Odious  man  that 
he  is.  I  am  sure  he  never  knew  a  truly  womanly 
woman." 

"  Polly,  when  he  comes  back  in  September  I'll 
introduce  him  to  you,"  is  the  only  answer  I  have 
time  to  make,  for  it  is  already  half  past  ten,  and 
Mrs.  P.  must  be  off  to  the  ball. 

I  know  that  our  set  is  not  the  world,  nor  the 
country,  nor  the  city.  I  know  that  the  amiable 
youths  who  are  in  league  to  crush  spooneyism 
are  not  many,  and  well  I  know,  that  in  our  set 
(I  mean  Mrs.  P.'s)  there  are  'hearts  as  noble  and 
characters  as  lofty  as  in  any  time  and  in  any 
land.  And  yet,  as  the  father  of  a  family  (viz. 


A   MEDITATION    BY   PAUL    POTIPHAR,    ESQ.    117 

Frederic,  our  son),  I  am  constrained  to  believe 
that  our  social  tendency  is  to  the  wildest  extrav 
agance.  Here,  for  instance,  is  my  house.  It  cost 
me.  eighty -five  thousand  dollars.  It  is  superbly 
furnished.  Mrs.  P.  and  I  don't  know  much  about 
such  things.  She  was  only  stringent  for  buhl, 
and  the  last  Parisian  models,  so  we  delivered  our 
house  into  the  hands  of  certain  eminent  uphol 
sterers  to  be  furnished,  as  we  send  Frederic  to 
the  tailor's  to  be  clothed.  To  be  sure,  I  asked 
what  proof  we  had  that  the  upholsterer  was 
possessed  of  taste.  But  Mrs.  P.  silenced  me, 
by  saying  that  it  was  his  business  to  have  taste, 
and  that  a  man  who  sold  furniture,  naturally 
knew  what  was  handsome  and  proper  for  my 
house. 

The  furnishing  was  certainly  performed  with 
great  splendor  and  expense.  My  drawing-rooms 
strongly  resemble  the  warehouse  of  an  ideal 
cabinet-maker.  Every  whim  of  table — every 
caprice  of  chair  and  sofa,  is  satisfied  in  those 
rooms.  There  are  curtains  like  rainbows,  and 
carpets,  as  if  the  curtains  had  dripped  all  over 
the  floor.  There  are  heavy  cabinets  of  carved 


118  THK    POTII'IIAK    1'Al'KHS. 

walnut,  such  as  belong  MI  the  heavy  wainscotted 
rooms  of  old  palaces,  set  against  my  last  French 
pattern  of  wall  paper.  There  are  lofty  chairs, 
like  the  thrones  of  archbishops  in  Gothic  cathe 
drals,  standing  by  the  side  of  the  elaborately 
gilded  frames  of  mirrors.  Marble  statues  of  Ve 
nus  and  the  Apollo  support  my  mantels,  upon 
which  or  molu  Louis  Quatorze  clocks  ring  the 
hours.  In  all  possible  places  there  are  statues, 
statuettes,  vases,  plates,  teacups,  and  liquor-cases. 
The  wood- work,  when  white,  is  elaborated  in 
Moresco  carving — when  oak  and  walnut,  it  is 
heavily  moulded.  The  contrasts  are  pretty,  but 
rather  sudden.  In  truth,  my  house  is  a  huge 
curiosity-shop  of  valuable  articles. — clustered 
without  taste,  or  feeling,  or  reason.  They  are 
there,  because  rny  house  was  large  and  I  was 
able  to  buy  them ;  and  because,  as  Mrs.  P.  says, 
one  must  have  buhl  and  or  molu,  and  new 
forms  of  furniture,  and  do  as  well  as  one's 
neighbors,  and  show  that  one  is  rich,  if  he  is 
so.  They  are  there,  in  fact,  because  I  couldn't 
help  it.  I  didn't  want  them,  but  then  I  don't 
know  what  I  did  want.  Somehow  I  don't  feel 


A    MKD1TATION    BV    PAL'L    POTIPIIAR,    ESQ.     119 

as  if  1  had  a  home,  merely  because  orders  were 
given  to  the  best  upholsterers  and  fancy-men  in 
town  to  send  a  sample  of  all  their  wares  to  my 
house.  To  pay  a  morning  call  at  Mrs.  Poti- 
phar's  is,  in  some  ways,  better  than  going  shop 
ping.  You  see  more  new  and  costly  things  in 
a  shorter  time.  People  say,  "What  a  love  of  a 
chair  !''  "  What  a  darling  table  !"  "  What  a 
heavenly  sofa !"  and  they  all  go  and  tease 
their  husbands  to  get  things  precisely  like  them. 
When  Kurz  Pacha,  the  Sennaar  minister,  came 
to  a  dinner  at  my  house,  he  said  : 

"  Bless  my  soul !  Mr.  Potiphar,  your  house 
is  just  like  your  neighbor's." 

I  know  it.  I  am  perfectly  aware  that  there 
is  no  more  difference  between  my  house  and 
Croesus's,  than  there  is  in  two  ten-dollar  bills 
of  the  same  bank.  He  might  live  in  my  house 
and  I  in  his,  without  any  confusion.  He  has 
the  same  curtains,  carpets,  chairs,  tables,  Ve- 
nuses,  Apollos,  busts,  vases,  &c.  And  he  goes 
into  his  room,  and  thinks  it's  all  a  devilish 
bore,  just  as  I  do.  We  have  each  got  to  re 
furnish  every  few  years,  and  therefore  have  no 


120  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

possible  opportunity  for  attaching  ourselves  to 
the  objects  about  us.  Unfortunately  Kurz  Pacha 
particularly  detested  precisely  what  Mrs.  P.  most 
liked,  because  it  is  the  fashion  to  like  them.  I 
mean  the  Louis  Quatorze  and  the  Louis  Quinze 
things. 

"  Taste,  dear  Mrs.  Potiphar,"  said  the  Pacha, 
"  was  a  thing  not  known  in  the  days  of  those 
kings.  Grace  was  entirely  supplanted  by  gro- 
tesqueness,  and  now,  instead  of  pure  and  beauti 
ful  Greek  forms,  we  must  collect  these  hideous 
things.  If  you  are  going  backward  to  find 
models,  why  not  go  as  far  as  the  good  ones? 
My  dear  madam,  an  or  molu  Louis  Quatorze 
clock  would  have  given  Pericles  a  fit.  Your 
drawing-rooms  would  have  thrown  Aspasia  into 
hysterics.  Things  are  not  beautiful  because 
they  cost  money ;  nor  is  any  grouping  handsome 
without  harmony.  Your  house  is  like  a  wonjan 
dressed  in  Ninon  de  1'Enclos's  bodice,  with 
Queen  Anne's  hooped  skirt,  who  limps  in  Chi 
nese  shoes,  and  wears  an  Elizabethan  ruff  round 
her  neck,  and  a  Druse's  horn  on  her  head.  My 
dear  madam,  this  is  the  kind  of  thing  we  go  to 


A    MEDITATION    BY    PAUL    POTiPHAR,    ESQ.     121 

see  in  museums.  It  is  the  old  stock  joke  of 
the  world." 

By  Jove  !  how  mad  Mrs.  Potiphar  was !  She 
rose  from  table,  to  the  great  dismay  of  Kurz 
Pacha,  and  I  could  only  restrain  her  by  remind 
ing  her  that  the  Sennaar  Minister  had  but  an 
imperfect  idea  of  our  language,  and  that  in 
Sennaar  people  probably  said  what  they  thought 
when  they  conversed. 

"  You'd  better  go  to  Sennaar,  then,  yourself, 
Mr.  Potiphar,"  said  my  wife,  as  she  smoothed 
her  rumpled  feathers. 

"Ton  my  word,  madam,  it's  my  own 
opinion,"  replied  I. 

Kurz  Pacha,  who  is  a  philosopher  (of  the 
Sennaar  school),  asks  me  if  people  have  no 
ideas  of  their  own  in  building  houses.  I 
answer,  none,  that  I  know  of,  except  that  of 
getting  the  house  built.  The  fact  is,  it  is  as 
much  as  Paul  Potiphar  can  do,  to  make  the 
money  to  erect  his  palatial  residence,  and  then 
to  keep  it  going.  There  are  a  great  many  fine 
statues  in  my  house,  but  I  know  nothing  about 

them  ;  I    don't   see  why  we    should    have    such 
r, 


122  THK    POTIPIIAK    PAPERS. 

heatlien  images  in  reputable  houses.  But  Mrs. 
P.  says: 

"  Pooh  !  have  you  no    ove  for  tne  fine  arts?1' 

There  it  is !  It  doesn't  do  not  to  love  the 
fine  arts;  so  Polly  is  continually  cluttering  up 
the  halls  and  staircases  with  marble,  and  send 
ing  me  heavy  bills  for  the  same. 

When  the  house  was  ready,  and  my  wife  had 
purchased  the  furniture,  she  came  and  said  to  me: 

"  Now,  my  dear  P.,  there  is  one  thing  we 
haven't  thought  of." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Pictures,  you  know,  dear." 

"What  do  you  want  pictures  for?"  growled 
I,  and  rather  surlily,  I  am  afraid. 

"  Why  to  furnish  the  walls ;  what  do  you 
suppose  we  want  pictures  for?" 

"  I  tell  you,  Polly,"  said  I,  "  that  pictures  are 
the  most  extravagant  kind  of  furniture.  Pshaw  ! 
a  man  rubs  and  dabbles  a  little  upon  a  canvas 
two  feet  square,  and  then  coolly  asks  three  hun 
dred  dollars  for  it." 

"Dear  me,  Pot,"  she  answered,  "I  don't  want 
home-made  pictures.  What  an  idea  1  Do  you 


A    MEDITATION    BY   PAUL   POTIPHAR,    ESQ.    123 

think  I'd  have  pictures  on  my  walls  that  were 
painted  in  this  country  ? — No,  my  dear  husband, 
let  us  have  some  choice  specimens  of  the  old 
masters.  A  landscape  by  Eayfel,  for  instance ; 
or  one  of  Angel's  fruit  pieces,  or  a  cattle  scene 
by  Verynees,  or  a  Madonna  of  Giddo's,  or  a  boar- 
hunt  of  Hannibal  Crackkey's." 

What  was  the  use  of  fighting  against  this  sort 
of  thing  ?  I  told  her  to  have  it  her  own  way. 
Mrs.  P.  consulted  Singe  the  pastry  cook,  who 
told  her  his  cousin  had  just  come  out  from  Italy 
with  a  lot  of  the  very  finest  pictures  in  the  world, 
which  he  had  bribed  one  of  the  Pope's  guard 
to  steal  from  the  Vatican,  and  which  he  would 
sell  at  a  bargain. 

They  hang  on  my  walls  now.  They  represent 
nothing  in  particular ;  but  in  certain  lights,  if  you 
look  very  closely,  you  can  easily  recognize  some 
thing  in  them  that  looks  like  a  lump  of  something 
brown.  There  is  one  very  ugly  woman  with  a 
convulsive  child  in  her  arms,  to  which  Mrs.  P. 
directly  takes  all  her  visitors,  and  asks  them  to 
admire  the  beautiful  Shay  douver  of  Giddo's. 
When  I  go  out  to  dinner  with  people  that  talk 


124  THE    POTII'HAK    I'Al'KKH. 

pictures  and  books,  and  that  kind  of  thing,  1 
don't  like  to  seem  behind,  so  I  say,  in  a  critical 
way,  that  Giddo  was  a  good  painter.  None  of 
them  contradict  me,  and  one  day  when  somebody 
asked,  "  Which  of  his  pictures  do  you  prefer  ?" 
I  answered  straight,  "His  Shay  dourer,"  and  no 
more  questions  were  asked. 

They  hang  all  about  the  house  no\v.  The 
Giddo  is  in  the  dining-room.  I  asked  the  Sennaar 
Minister  if  it  wasn't  odd  to  have  a  religious  pic 
ture  in  the  dining-room.  lie  smiled,  and  said  that 
it  was  perfectly  proper  if  I  liked  it,  and  if  the 
picture  of  such  an  ugly  woman  didn't  take  away 
my  appetite. 

'What  difference  does  it  make,"  said  he,  in  the 
Sennaar  manner,  "  it  would  be  equally  out  of 
keeping  with  every  other  room  in  your  house. 
My  dear  Potiphar,  it  is  a  perfectly  unprincipled 
house,  this  of  yours.  If  your  mind  were  in  the 
condition  of  your  house,  so  ill-assorted,  so  con 
fused,  so  overloaded  with  things  that  don't  belong 
together,  you  would  never  make  another  cent. 
You  have  order,  propriety,  harmony,  in  your 
dealings  with  the  Symmes's  Hole  Bore  Co.,  and 


A    MEDITATION    BY    PAUL    POTIPHAR,    ESQ.     125 

tliey  are  the  secrets  of  your  success.  Why  not 
have  the  same  elements  in  your  house?  Why 
pitch  every  century,  country,  and  fashion,  hig 
gledy-piggledy  into  your  parlors  and  dining- 
room  ?  Have  every  thing  you  can  get,  in 
heaven's  name,  but  have  every  thing  in  its  place. 
If  you  are  a  plodding  tradesman,  knowing  and 
caring  nothing  about  pictures,  or  books,  or  statu 
ary,  or  objets  de  vertu ;  don't  have  them.  Sup 
pose  your  neighbor  chooses  to  put  them  in  his 
house.  If  he  has  them  merely  because  he  had 
the  money  to  pay  for  them,  he  is  the  butt  of 
every  picture  and  book  he  owns. 

"  When  I  meet  Mr.  Croesus  in  Wall  street,  I 
respect  him  as  I  do  a  king  in  his  palace,  or  a 
scholar  in  his  study.  He  is  master  of  the  occa 
sion.  He  commands  like  Nelson  at  the  Nile. 
I,  who  am  merely  a  diplomatist,  skulk  and  hurry 
along,  and  if  Mr.  Croesus  smiles,  I  inwardly  thank 
him  for  his  charity.  Wall  street  is  Croesus's 
sphere,  and  all  his  powers  play  there  perfectly. 
But  when  I  meet  him  in  his  house,  surrounded 
by  objects  of  art,  by  the  triumphs  of  a  skill 
which  he  does  not  understand,  and  for  which  he 


126  THE   POTIP1IAR   PAPERS. 

cares  nothing, — of  which,  in  fact,  he  seems  afraid, 
because  he  knows  any  chance  question  about 
them  would  trip  him  up, — my  feeling  is  very 
much  changed.  If  I  should  ask  him  what  or  moln 
is,  I  don't  believe  he  could  answer,  though  his 
splendid  or  rnolu  clock  rang,  indignant,  from  the 
mantel.  But  if  I  should  say,  '  Invest  me  this 
thousand  dollars,'  he  would  secure  me  eight  per 
cent.  It  certainly  isn't  necessary  to  know  what 
or  molu  is,  nor  to  have  any  other  objet  de  vertu  but 
your  wife.  Then  why  should  you  barricade  your 
self  behind  all  these  things  that  you  really  cannot 
enjoy,  because  you  don't  understand  ?  If  you 
could  not  read  Italian,  you  would  be  a  fool  to  buy 
Dante,  merely  because  you  knew  he  was  a  great 
l»oet.  And,  in  the  same  way,  if  you  know  nothing 
r.bout  matters  of  art,  it  is  equally  foolish  for  you 
to  buy  statues  and  pictures,  although  you  hear  on 
all  sides,  that,  as  Mrs.  P.  says,  one  must  love  art. 
"  As  for  learning  from  your  own  pictures,  you 
know,  perfectly  well,  that  until  you  have  some 
taste  in  the  matter,  you  will  be  paying  money  for 
your  pictures,  blindly,  so  that  the  only  persons 
upon  whom  your  display  of  art  would  make  any 


A   MEDITATION   BY    PAUL    POTIPHAR,    ESQ.    127 

impression,  will  be  the  very  ones  to  see  that  you 
know  nothing  about  it. 

"  In  Sennaar,  a  man  is  literally  '  the  master  of 
the  house.1  He  isn't  surrounded  by  what  he  does 
not  understand;  he  is  not  obliged  to  talk  book, 
and  picture,  when  he  knows  nothing  about  these 
matters.  He  is  not  afraid  of  his  parlor,  and  you 
feel  instantly  upon  entering  the  house,  the  charac 
ter  of  the  master.  Please,  my  dear  Mr.  Potiphar, 
survey  your  mansion  and  tell  me  what  kind  of  a 
man  it  indicates.  If  it  does  not  proclaim  (in  your 
case)  the  President  of  the  Patagonia  Junction, 
a  man  shrewd,  and  hard,  and  solid,  without  taste 
or  liberal  cultivation,  it  is  a  painted  deceiver.  If 
it  tries  to  insinuate  by  this  chaotic  profusion  of 
rich  arid  rare  objects,  that  you  are  a  cultivated, 
accomplished,  tasteful,  and  generous  man,  it  is  a 
bad  lie,  because  a  transparent  one.  Why,  my 
dear  old  Pot,  the  moment  your  servant  opens  the 
front  door,  a  man  of  sense  perceives  the  whole 
thing.  You  and  Mrs.  Potiphar  are  bullied  by  all 
the  brilliancy  you  have  conjured  up.  It  is  the 
old  story  of  the  fisherman  and  the  genii.  And 
your  guests  all  see  it.  They  are  too  well-bred 


128  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

to  speak  of  it ;  but  I  come  from  Sennaar,  where 
we  do  not  lay  so  much  stress  upon  that  kind 
of  good-breeding.  Mr.  Paul  Potiphar,  it  is  one 
thing  to  have  plenty  of  money,  and  quite  another, 
to  know  how  to  spend  it." 

Now,  as  I  told  him,  this  kind  of  talk  may 
do  very  well  in  Sennaar,  but  it  is  absurd  in  a 
country  like  ours.  How  are  people  to  know 
that  I'm  rich,  unless  I  show  it?  I'm  sorry  for 
it,  but  how  shall  I  help  it,  having  Mrs.  P.  at 
hand  ? 

"  How  about  the  library  ?"  said  she  one  day. 

"  What  library  ?"  inquired  I. 

"  Why,  our  library,  of  course." 

"I  haven't  any." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  have  such  a  house  as  this 
without  a  library?" 

"  Why,"  said  I  plaintively,  "  I  don't  read 
books — I  never  did,  and  I  never  shall ;  and  I 
don't  care  any  thing  about  them.  Why  should 
I  have  a  library  ?" 

"  Why,  because  it's  part  of  a  house  like  this." 

"Mrs.  P.,  are  you  fond  of  books?" 

"No,    not   particularly.      But  one   must  have 


A    MEDITATION    BY    PAUL    POTIPHAR,    ESQ.    129 

some  regard  to  appearances.  Suppose  we  are 
Hottentots,  }^ou  don't  want  us  to  look  so,  do 
you?" 

I  thought  that  it  was  quite  as  barbarous  to 
imprison  a  lot  of  books  that  we  should  never 
open,  and  that  would  stand  in  gilt  upon  the 
shelves,  silently  laughing  us  to  scorn,  as  not  to 
have  them  if  we  didn't  want  them.  I  proposed 
a  compromise. 

"Is  it  the  looks  of  the  thing,  Mrs.  P.?" 
said  I. 

"  That's  all,"  she  answered. 

"  Oh  !  well,  I'll  arrange  it." 

So  I  had  my  shelves  built,  and  my  old  friends 
Matthews  and  Eider  furnished  me  with  complete 
sets  of  handsome  gilt  covers  to  all  the  books  that 
no  gentleman's  library  should  be  without,  which 
I  arranged,  carefully,  upon  the  shelves,  and  had 
the  best-looking  library  in  town.  I  locked  'em 
in,  and  the  key  is  always  lost  when  any  body 
wants  to  take  down  a  book.  However,  it  was 
a  good  investment  in  leather,  for  it  brings  me 
in  the  reputation  of  a  reading  man  and  a  patron 

of  literature. 
6* 


130  THE    POTIPHAR    PAPERS. 

Mrs.  P.  is  a  religious  woman — the  Rev.  Cream 
Cheese  takes  care  of  that — but  onl}-  yesterday 
she  proposed  something  to  me  that  smells  very 
strongly  of  candlesticks. 

"Pot.,  I  want  a  prie-dieu." 

"  Pray-do  what  ?"  answered  I. 

"Stop,  you  wicked  man.  I  say  I  want  a 
kneeling-chair." 

"A  kneeling-chair?"  I  gasped,  utterly  confused. 

"A  prie-dieu — a  prie-dieu — to  pray  in,  you 
know." 

My  Sennaar  friend,  who  was  at  table,  choked. 
"When  he  recovered,  and  we  were  sipping  the 
"  Blue  seal,"  he  told  me  that  he  thought  Mrs. 
Potiphar  in  a  prie-dieu  was  rather  a  more  amus 
ing  idea  than  Giddo's  Madonna  in  the  dining- 
room. 

"She  will  insist  upon  its  being  carved  hand 
somely  in  walnut.  She  will  not  pray  upon 
pine.  It  is  a  romantic,  not  a  religious,  whim. 
She'll  want  a  missal  next;  vellum  or  no  prayers. 
This  is  piety  of  the  'Lady  Alice'  school.  It 
belongs  to  a  fine  lady  and  a  fine  house  pre 
cisely  as  your  library  does,  and  it  will  be  pre- 


A    MEDITATION    BY    PAUL    POTIPHAR,    ESQ.      131 

cisely  as  genuine.  Mrs.  Potiphar  in  a  prie-diea 
is  like  that  blue  morocco  Comus  in  yowr  library. 
It  is  charming  to  look  at,  but  there's  nothing 
in  it.  Let  her  have  the  prie-dieu  by  all  means, 
and  then  begin  to  build  a  chapel.  No  gentle 
man's  house  should  be  without  a  chapel.  You'll 
have  to  come  to  it,  Potiphar.  You'll  have  to 
hear  Cream  Cheese  read  morning  prayers  in  a 
purple  chasuble, — que  sais-je?  You'll  see  religion 
made  a  part  of  the  newest  fashion  in  houses, 
as  you  already  see  literature  and  art,  and  with 
just  as  much  reality  and  reason." 

Privately,  I  am  glad  the  Sennaar  minister  has 
gone  out  of  town.  It's  bad  enough  to  be  uncom 
fortable  in  your  own  house  without* knowing  why  ; 
but  to  have  a  philosopher  of  the  Sennaar  school 
show  you  why  you  are  so,  is  cutting  it  rather  too 
fat.  I  am  gradually  getting  resigned  to  my  house. 
I've  got  one  more  struggle  to  go  through  next 
week  in  Mrs.  Potiphar's  musical  party.  The 
morning  soire'es  are  over  for  the  season,  and 
Mrs.  P.  begins  to  talk  of  the  watering  places. 
I  am  getting  gradually  resigned ;  but  only  grad 
ual  lv. 


132  THE   POTIPHAR    PAPERS. 

Oh !  dear  me,  I  wonder  if  this  is  the  "  home, 
sweet  home"  business  the  girls  used  to  sing 
about !  Music  does  certainly  alter  cases.  I 
can't  quite  get  used  to  it.  Last  week  I  was 
one  morning  in  the  basement  breakfast-room, 
and  I  heard  an  extra  cried.  I  ran  out  of  the 
area  door — dear  me! — before  I  thought  what  I 
was  about,  I  emerged  bareheaded  from  under 
the  steps,  and  ran  a  little  way  after  the  boy. 
I  know  it  wasn't  proper.  I  am  sorry,  very  sorry. 
I  am  afraid  Mrs.  Croesus  saw  me ;  I  know  Mrs. 
Gnu  told  it  all  about  that  morning:  and  Mrs. 
Settum  Downe  called  directly  upon  Mrs.  Poti- 
phar,  to  know  if  it  were  really  true  that  I  had 
lost  my  wits,  as  every  body  was  saying.  I  don't 
know  what  Mrs.  P.  answered.  I  am  sorry  to 
have  compromised  her  so.  I  went  immediately 
and  ordered  a  pray-do  of  the  blackest  walnut. 
My  resignation  is  very  gradual.  Kurz  Pacha 
says  they  put  on  gravestones  in  Sennaar  three 
Latin  words — do  you  know  Latin  ?  if  you  don't, 
come  and  borrow  some  of  my  books.  The  words 
are:  ora  pro  me! 


IV. 

'  FROM  THE 

wmm*r  Siaru  of  Mitttrba 


I'rom  tjjf  Summer  Jliarj)  of  Hlmerira 
Cattle. 


NEWPORT,  August. 

IT  certainly  is  not  papa's  fault  that  lie  doesn't 
understand  French ;  but  he  ought  not  to  pretend 
to.  It  does  put  one  in  such  uncomfortable  situ 
ations  occasionally.  In  fact,  I  think  it  would  be 
quite  as  well  if  we  could  sometimes  "  sink  the 
paternal,"  as  Timon  Croesus  says.  I  suppose 
every  body  has  heard  of  the  awful  speech  pa 
made  in  the  parlor  at  Saratoga.  My  dearest 
friend,  Tabby  Dormouse,  told  me  she  had  heard 
of  it  every  where,  and  that  it  was  ten  times  as 
absurd  each  time  it  was  repeated.  By  the  by, 
Tabby  is  a  dear  creature,  isn't  she  ?  It's  so  nice 
to  have  a  spy  in  the  enemy's  camp,  as  it  were, 
and  to  hear  every  thing  that  every  body  says 


136  THE    POT1PHAU    PAPKHS. 

about  you.  She  is  not  handsome, — poor,  dear 
Tabby !  There's  no  denying  it,  but  she  can't 
help  it.  I  was  obliged  to  tell  young  Downe  so, 
quite  decidedly,  for  I  really  think  lie  had  an 
idea  she  was  good-looking.  The  idea  of  Tabby 
Dormouse  being  handsome  !  But  she  is  a  useful 
little  thing  in  her  way ;  one  of  my  intimates. 

The  true  story  is  this. 

Ma  and  I  had  persuaded  pa  to  take  us  to  Sara 
toga,  for  we  heard  the  English  party  were  to  be 
there,  and  we  were  anxious  they  should  see  some 
good  society,  at  least.  It  seems  such  a  pity  they 
shouldn't  know  what  handsome  dresses  we.  really 
do  have  in  this  country !  And  I  mentioned  to 
some  of  the  most  English  of  our  young  men,  that 
there  might  be  something  to  be  done  at  Sara 
toga.  But  they  shrugged  their  shoulders,  espe 
cially  Timon  Croesus  and  Gauche  Boosey,  and 
said — 

"  Well,  really,  the  fact  is,  Miss  Tattle,  all  the 
Englishmen  I  have  ever  met  are — in  fact — a  little 
snobbish.  However." 

That  was  about  wliat  they  said.  But  I  thought, 
considering  their  fondness  of  the  English  model 


MINERVA  TATTLE'S  DIARY.  137 

in  dress  and  manner,  that  they  might  have  been 
more  willing  to  meet  some  genuine  aristocracy. 
Yet,  perhaps,  that  handsome  Col.  Abattew  is  right 
in  saying  with  his  grand  military  air, — • 

"  The  British  aristocracy,  madam, — the  British 
aristocracy  is  vulgar." 

Well,  we  all  went  up  to  Saratoga.  But  the 
distinguished  strangers  did  not  come.  I  held 
back  that  last  muslin  of  mine,  the  yellow  one, 
embroidered  with  the  Alps,  and  a  distant  view 
of  the  isles  of  Greece  worked  on  the  flounces, 
until  it  was  impossible  to  wait  longer.  I  meant 
to  wear  it  at  dinner  the  first  day  they  came,  with 
the  pearl  necklace  and  the  opal  studs,  and  that 
heavy  ruby  necklace  (it  is  a  low-necked  dress). 
The  dining-room  at  the  "  United  States"  is  so 
large  that  it  shows  off  those  dresses  finely,  and 
if  the  waiter  doesn't  let  the  soup  or  the  gravy 
slip,  and  your  neighbor,  (who  is,  like  as  not, 
what  Tabby  Dormouse,  with  her  incapacity  to 
pronounce  the  r,  calls  "  some  'aw,  'uff  man  from 
the  country,")  doesn't  put  the  leg  of  his  chair 
through  the  dress,  and  if  you  don't  muss  it  sit 
ting  down — why,  I  should  like  to  know  a  prettier 


188  THE    POTli'HAK    PAPERS. 

place  to  wear  a  lo\v-neckeJ  muslin,  with  jewels, 
than  the  dining-room  of  the  "  United  States"  at 
Saratoga. 

Kurx  Pacha,  the  Sennaar  minister,  who  was  up 
there,  and  who  is  so  smitten  with  Mrs.  Potiphar, 
said  that  lie  had  known  few  happier  moments  in 
this  country  than  the  dining  hour  at  the  "  United 
States/' 

"  When  the  gong  sounds,"  says  he,  "  I  am  re 
minded  of  the  martial  music  of  Sennaar.  When 
I  seat  myself  in  the  midst  of  such  splendor  of 
toilette,  and  in  an  apartment  so  stately  and  so 
appropriate  for  that  display,  I  recall  the  taste 
of  the  Grim  Tartars,  to  whose  ruler  I  had  the 
honor  of  being  first  accredited  ambassador. 
When  I  behold,  with  astonished  eyes,  the  en 
trance  of  that  sable  society,  the  measured  echo 
of  whose  footfalls  so  properly  silences  the  con 
versation  of  all  the  nobles,  I  seem  to  see  the 
regular  army  of  my  beloved  Sennaar  investing 
a  conquered  city.  This,  I  cry  to  myself,  with 
enthusiasm,  this  is  the  height  of  civilization ;  and 
I  privately  hand  one  of  the  privates  in  that  grand 
armv,  a  gold  dollar,  to  bring  me  a  dish  of  beans. 


MINERVA  TATTLE'S  DIARY.  139 

Each  green  bean,  O  greener  envoy  extraordinary, 
I  say  to  myself  with  rapture,  should  be  well 
worth  its  weight  in  gold,  when  served  to  such 
a  congress  of  kings,  queens,  and  hereditary  prince 
royals  as  are  assembled  here.  And  I  find,"  con 
tinues  the  Pacha,  "that  I  am  right.  The  guest 
at  this  banquet  is  admitted  to  the  freedom  of 
corn  and  potatoes,  only  after  negotiations  with 
the  sable  military.  It  is  quite  the  perfection  of 
organization.  What  hints  I  shall  gather  for  the 
innocent  pleasure-seekers  of  Sennaar,  who  still 
fancy  that  when  they  bargain  for  a  draught  of 
rose  sherbet,  they  have  tacitly  agreed  for  a  glass 
to  drink  it  from  ! 

"Why,  the  first  day  I  carne,"  he  went  on,  "I 
was  going  to  my  room,  and  met  the  chamber 
maid  coming  out.  Now,  as  I  had  paid  a  colored 
gentleman  a  dollar  for  my  dinner,  in  addition  to 
the  little  bill  which  I  settle  at  the  office,  I  thought 
it  wras  equally  necessary  to  secure  my  bed  by  a 
slight  fee  to  the  goddess  of  the  chambers.  I 
therefore  pulled  out  my  purse,  and  offered  her 
a  bill  of  a  small  amount.  She  turned  the  color 
of  tomatoes. 


140  TUE    POTIPHAR    PAPERS. 

" '  Sir,'  exclaimed  she,  and  with  dignity,  '  do 
you  mean  to  insult  me?' 

" '  Good  heavens,  miss,'  cried  I,  '  quite  the 
contrary,'  and  thinking  it  was  not  enough,  I  pre 
sented  another  bill  of  a  larger  amount. 

"  '  Sir,'  said  she,  half  sobbing,  '  you  are  no  gen 
tleman  ;  I  shall  leave  the  house !' 

"  I  was  very  much  perplexed.     I  began  again  : 

"  '  Miss-^-my  dear — I  mean  madam — how  much 
must  I  pay  you  to  secure  my  room  ?' 

'"I  don't  understand  you,  sir,'  replied  the 
chambermaid,  somewhat  mollified. 

"  '  Why,  my  dear  girl,  if  I  paid  Sambo  a  dollar 
for  my  dinner,  I  expect  to  pay  Dolly  something 
for  my  chamber,  of  course.' 

'"Well,  sir,  you  are  certainly  very  kind,  I— 
with  pleasure,  I'm  sure,'  replied  she,  entirely  ap 
peased,  taking  the  money,  and  vanishing. 

"I,"  said  Kurz  Pacha,  "entered  my  room  and 
locked  the  door.  But  I  believe  I  was  a  little 
hasty  about  giving  her  the  money.  The  perfec 
tion  of  civil i-zation  has  not  yet  mounted  the  stairs. 
It  is  confined  to  the  dining-room.  How  beautiful 
is  that  strain  from  the  Favorita,  Miss  Minerva, 


MINERVA  TATTLE'S  DIARY.  141 

turn  turn,  ti  ti,  turn  turn,  tee  tee,"  and  tlie  delight 
ful  Sennaar  ambassador,  seeing  Mrs.  Potiphar  in 
the  parlor,  danced,  humming,  away. 

There  are  few  pleasanter  men  in  society.  I 
should  think  with  his  experience  he  would  be 
hard  upon  us,  but  he  is  not.  The  air  of  courts 
does  not  seem  to  have  spoiled  him. 

"  My  dear  madam,"  he  said  one  evening  to 
Mrs.  Potiphar,  "  if  you  laugh  at  any  thing,  your 
laughing  is  laughed  at  next  day.  Life  is  short. 
If  you  can't  see  the  jewel  in  the  toad's  head,  still 
believe  in  it.  Take  it  for  granted.  The  Parisi- 
enne  says  that  the  English  woman  has  noje  ne  sais 
quoi.  The  English  woman  says  the  Parisienne  has 
no  aplomb.  Amen !  When  you  are  in  Turkey 
— why,  gobble.  Why  should  I  decline  to  have  a 
good  time  at  the  Queen's  drawing-room,  because 
English  women  have  no  je  ne  sais  quoi,  or  at 
the  grand  opera,  because  French  women  lack 
aplomb*!  Take  things  smoothly.  Life  is  a  merry- 
go-round.  Look  at  your  own  grandfather,  dear 
Mrs.  Potiphar, — fine  old  gent!  -m  MI,  I  am  told, — • 
rather  kept  in  what  the  artists  call  the  middle- 
distance,  at  present, — a  capital  shoemaker,  who 


142  THE    POTIPHAR    PAPERS. 

did  his  work  well, — Alexander  and  John  Howard 
did  no  more: — well,  here  you  are,  you  see,  witli 
liveries  and  a  pew  in  the  right  church,  and  al 
together  a  front  seat  in  the  universe — merry-go- 
round,  you  know;  here  we  go  up,  up,  up;  here 
we  go  down,  down,  down,  &c.  By-the-bye,  pretty 
strain  that  from  Linda;  turn  turn,  ti  turn  turn," 
and  away  hopped  the  Sennaar  minister. 

Mrs.  Potiphar  was  angry.  Who  wouldn't  have 
been?  To  have  the  old  family  shoes  thrown  in 
one's  teeth !  But  our  ambassador  is  an  ambassa 
dor.  One  must  have  the  best  society,  and  she 
swallowed  it  as  she  has  swallowed  it  a  hundred 
times  before.  She  quietly  remarked — 

"Pity  Kurz  Pacha  drinks  so  abominably.  He 
quite  forgets  what  he's  saying!7' 

I  suppose  he  does,  if  Mrs.  P.  says  so :  but  he 
seems  to  know  well  enough  all  the  time:  as  he 
did  that  evening  in  the  library  at  Mrs.  Potiphar'?, 
when  he  drew  Cerulea  Bass  to  the  book-shelves, 
and  began  to  dispute  about  a  line  in  Milton,  and 
then  suddenly  looking  up  at  the  books,  said — 

"  Ah !  there's  Milton ;  now  we'll  see."  But 
when  he  opened  the  case,  which  was  foolishly  left 


MINERVA  TATTLE'S  DIARY.  143 

unlocked,  he  took  down  only  a  bit  of  wood, 
bound  in  blue  morocco,  which  he  turned  slowly 
over,  so  that  every  body  saw  it,  and  then  quietly 
returned  it  to  the  shelf,  saying  only— 

"  I  beg  pardon." 

Old  Pot.,  as  Mrs.  P.  calls  him,  happened  to 
be  passing  at  the  moment,  and  cried  out  in  his 
brusque  way — 

"Oh!  I  haven't  laid  in  my  books  yet.  Those 
are  only  samples — pattern-cards,  you  know.  I 
don't  believe  you'll  find  there  a  single  book 
that  a  gentleman's  library  shouldn't  be  without. 
I  got  old  Vellum  to  do  the  thing  up  right,  you 
know.  I  guess  he  knows  about  the  books  to 
buy.  But  I've  just  laid  in  some  claret  that 
you'll  like,  and  I've  got  a  sample  of  the  Stein 
berg.  Old  Corque  understands  that  kind  of  thing, 
if  any  body  does."  And  the  two  gentlemen 
went  off  to  try  the  wine. 

I  am  astonished  that  a  man  of  Kurz  Pacha's 
tact  should  have  opened  the  book-case.  People 
have  no  right  to  suppose  that  the  pretty  bind 
ings  on  one's  shelves  are  books.  Why,  they 
might  as  well  insist  upon  trying  if  the  bloom 


144:  T11K    POTJPHAH    PAPERS. 

on  one's  cheek,  or  the  lace  on  one's  dress,  or, 
in  fact,  one's  figure,  were  real.  Such  things 
are  addressed  to  the  eye.  No  gentleman  uses 
his  hands  in  good  society.  I've  no  doubt  they 
were  originally  put  into  gloves  to  keep  them 
out  of  mischief. 

I  am  as  bad  as  dear  Mrs.  Potiphar  about  com 
ing  to  the  point  of  my  story.  But  the  truth  is, 
that  in  such  engrossing  places  as  Saratoga  and 
Newport,  it  is  hardly  possible  to  determine  which 
is  the  pleasantest  and  most  important  thing  among 
BO  many.  I  am  so  fond  of  that  old,  droll  Kurx; 
Pacha,  that  if  I  begin  to  talk  about  him  I  forget 

0F_ 

every  thing  else.  He  says  such  nice  things  about 
people  that  nobody  else  would  dare  to  say,  and 
that  eveny  body  is  so  glad  to  hear.  lie  is  in 
valuable  in  society.  And  yet  one  is  never  safe. 
People  say  he  isn't  gentlemanly ;  but  when  I  see 
the  style  of  man  that  is  called  gentlemanly,  I  am 
very  glad  he  is  not.-  All  the  solemn,  pompous 
men  who  stand  about  like  owls,  and  never  speak, 
nor  laugh,  nor  move,  as  if  they  really  had  any  life 
or  feeling,  are  called  "gentlemanly."  Whenever* 
Tabby  says  of  a  new  man — "  But  then  he  is  so 


MINERVA  TATTLE'S  DIARY.  145 

gentlemanly !"  I  understand  at  once.  It  is  an 
other  case  of  the  well-dressed  wooden  image. 
Good  heavens !  do  you  suppose  Sir  Philip  Sid 
ney,  or  the  Chevalier  Bayard,  or  Charles  Fox, 
were  "gentlemanly"  in  this  way?  Confectioners 
who  undertake  parties  might  furnish  scores  of 
such  gentlemen,  with  hands  and  feet  of  any 
required  size,  and  warranted  to  do  nothing  "un- 
gentlemanly."  For  my  part,  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  a  gentleman  is  something  positive, 
not  merely  negative.  And  if  sometimes  my 
friend  the  Pacha  says  a  rousing  and  wholesome 
truth,  it  is  none  the  less  gentlemanly  because  it 
cuts  a  little.  He  says  it's  very  amusing  to  ob 
serve  how  coolly  we  play  this  little  farce  of  life, — 
how  placidly  people  get  entangled  in  a  mesh  at 
which  they  all  rail,  and  how  fiercely  they  frown 
upon  any  body  who  steps  out  of  the  ring.  "  You 
tickle  me  and  I'll  tickle  you ;  but,  at  all  events, 
you  tickle  me,"  is  the  motto  of  the  crowd. 

"  Allans  f"  says  he,  "who  cares?  lead  off  to 
the  right  and  left — down  the  middle  and  up 
again.  Smile  all  round,  and  bow  gracefully  to 
your  partner;  then  carry  your  heavy  heart  up 


148  THE    POTIPIIAR    PAPERS. 

it  came.  Nancy  Fungus  leaned  her  head  on  my 
shoulder,  and  fairly  shook  with  laughter.  The 
others  hid  behind  their  fans,  and  the  men  sud 
denly  walked  off  to  the  windpws,  and  slipped 
on  to  the  piazza.  Papa  looked  bewildered,  and 
half  smiled.  But  it  was  a  very  melancholy  busi 
ness,  and  I  told  him  that  he  had  better  go  up  and 
dress  for  dinner. 

It  was  impossible  to  stay  after  that.  The  un 
happy  slip  became  the  staple  of  Saratoga  conver 
sation.  Young  Boosey  (Mrs.  Potiphar's  witty 
friend)  asked  Morris  audibly  at  dinner,  "Where 
do  the  parvenus  sit?  I  want  to  sit  among  the 
parvenus." 

"  Of  course  you  do,  sir,"  answered  Morris,  sup 
posing  he  meant  the  circle  of  the  creme  de  la  creme, 

And  so  the  thing  went  on  multiplying  itself. 
Poor  papa  doesn't  understand  it  yet.  I  don't  dare 
to  explain.  Old  Fungus,  who  prides  himself  so 
upon  his  family  (it  is  one  of  the  very  ancient  and 
honorable  Virginia  families,  that  came  out  of  the 
ark  with  Noah,  as  Kurz  Pacha  says  of  his  ances 
tors,  when  he  hears  that  the  founder  of  a  family 
"came  over  with  the  Conqueror,")  and  who  can- 


MINERVA  TATTLE'S  DIARY.  149 

not  deny  himself  a  joke,  came  up  to  pa,  in  the 
bar-room,  while  a  large  party  of  gentlemen  were 
drinking  cobblers,  and  said  to  him  with  a  loud 
laugh : 

"  So,  all  the  parvenus  are  going  to  Newport : 
are  they,  Tattle  ?" 

"Yes!"  replied  pa,  innocently,  "that's  what 
they  say.  So  I  suppose  we  shall  all  have  to  go, 
Fungus." 

There  was  another  roar  that  time,  but  not  from 
the  representative  of  Noah's  Ark.  It  was  rather 
thin  joking,  but  it  did  very  well  for  the  warm 
weather,  and  I  was  glad  to  hear  a  laugh  against 
any  body  but  poor  pa. 

We  came  to  Newport,  but  the  story  came 
before  us,  and  I  have  been  very  much  annoyed 
at  it.  I  know  it  is  foolish  for  me  to  think  of 
it.  Kurz  Pacha  said — 

"  My  dear  Miss  Minerva,  I  have  no  doubt  it 
would  pain  you  more  to  be  thought  ignorant 
of  French  than  capable  of  deceit.  Yet  it  is  a 
very  innocent  ignorance  of  your  father's.  Nobody 
is  bound  to  know  French;  but  you  all  lay  so 
much  stress  upon  it,  as  if  it  were  the  whole  duty 


150  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

of  woman  to  have  an  'air,'  and  to  speak  French, 
that  any  ignorance  becomes  at  once  ludicrous. 
It's  all  your  own  doing.  You  make  a  very 
natural  thing  absurd,  and  then  grieve  because 
some  friend  becomes  a  victim.  There  is  your 
friend  Nancy  Fungus,  who  '  speaks  French  as 
well  as  she  does  English.'  That  may  be  true ; 
but  you  ought  to  add,  that  one  is  of  just  as 
much  use  to  her  as  the  other — that  is,  of  no 
use  at  all,  except  to  communicate  platitudes. 
What  is  the  use  of  a  girl's  learning  French  to 
be  able  to  say  to  young  Tete  de  Choux,  that 
it  is  a  very  warm  day,  and  that  Newport  is 
charmante.  I  don't  suppose  the  knowledge  of 
French  is  going  to  supply  her  with  ideas  to 
express.  A  girl  who  is  flat  in  her  native  English, 
will  hardly  be  spiriluelle  in  her  exotic  French. 
It  is  a  delightful  language  for  the  natives,  and 
for  all  who  have  thoroughly  mastered  its  spirit. 
Its  genius  is  airy  and  sparkling.  It  is  espe 
cially  the  language  of  society,  because  society  is, 
theoretically,  the  playful  encounter  of  sprightli- 
ness  and  wit.  It  is  the  worst  language  I  know 
of  for  poetry,  ethics,  and  the  habit  of  the  Saxon 


MINERVA  TATTLE'S  DIARY.  151 

mind.  It  is  wonderful  in  the  hands  of  such 
masters  as  Balzac  and  George  Sand,  and  is 
especially  adapted  to  their  purposes.  Yet  their 
books  are  forbidden  to  Nancy  Fungus,  Tabby 
Dormouse,  Daisy  Clover,  and  all  their  relations. 
They  read  Tekmaque,  and  long  to  be  married, 
that  they  may  pry  into  Leila  and  Indiana:  their 
French,  meanwhile,  even  if  they  wanted  to  know 
any  thing  of  French  literature, — which  is  too 
absurd  an  idea, — serves  them  only  to  say  nothing 
to  uncertain  hairy  foreigners  who  haunt  society, 
and  to  understand  their  nothings,  in  response. 
I  am  really  touched  for  this  Ariel,  this  tricksy 
sprite  of  speech,  when  I  know  that  it  must  do 
the  bidding  of  those  who  can  never  fit  its  airy 
felicity  to  any  worthy  purpose.  I  have  tried 
these  accomplished  damsels  who  speak  French 
and  Italian  as  well  as  they  do  English.  But 
our  conversation  was  only  a  clumsy  translation 
of  English  commonplace.  And  yet,  Miss  Minerva, 
I  think  even  so  sensible  a  woman  as  you,  looks 
with  honor  and  respect  upon  one  of  that  class. 
Dear  me !  excuse  me !  What  am  I  thinking  of? 
I'm  engaged  to  drive  little  Daisy  Clover  on  the 


152  THE    POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

beach  at  six  o'clock.  She  is  one  of  those  who 
garnish  their  conversation  with  French  scraps. 
Really  you  must  pardon  me,  if  she  is  a  friend 
of  yours  ;  but  that  dry,  gentlemanly  fellow, 
D'Orsay  Firkin,  says  that  Miss  Clover's  conver 
sation  is  a  dish  of  tele  de  veau  farci.  Aren't 
you  coming  to  the  beach?  Every  body  goes  to 
day.  Mrs.  Gnu  has  arrived,  and  the  Potiphars 
are  here, — that  is,  Mrs.  P.  Old  Pot.  arrives  on 
Sunday  morning  early,  and  is  off  again  on  Mon 
day  evening.  He's  grown  very  quiet  and  docile. 
Mrs.  P.  usually  takes  him  a  short  drive  on 
Monday  morning,  and  he  comes  to  dinner  in  a 
white  waistcoat.  In  fact,  as  Mrs.  Potiphar 
says,  '  My  husband  has  not  the  air  distingue 
which  I  should  be  pleased  to  see  in  him,  but 
he  is  quite  as  well  as  could  be  expected.' 
Upon  which  Firkin  twirls  his  hat  in  a  signifi 
cant  way ;  you  and  I  smile  intelligently,  dear 
Miss  Minerva  ;  Mrs.  Green  and  Mrs.  Settum 
Downe  exchange  glances ;  we  all  understand 
Mrs.  Potiphar  and  each  other,  and  Mrs.  Poti 
phar  understands  us,  and  it  is  all  very  sweet 
and  pleasant,  and  the  utmost  propriety  is  ob- 


MINERVA  TATTLE'S  DIARY.  153 

served,  and  we  don't  laugh  loud  until  we're 
out  of  hearing,  and  then  say  in  the  very  softest 
whispers,  that  it  was  a  remarkably  true  obser 
vation.  This  is  thje  way  to  take  life,  my  dear 
lady.  Let  us  go  gently.  Here  we  go  back 
wards  and  forwards.  You  tickle,  and  I'll  tickle, 
and  we'll  all  tickle,  and  here  we  go  round — 
round — roundy !" 

And  the  Sennaar  minister  danced  out  of  the 
room. 

He  is  a  droll  man,  and  I  don't  quite  understand 
him.  Of  course  I  don't  entirely  like  him,  for  it 
always  seems  as  if  he  meant  something  a  little 
different  from  what  he  says.  Laura  Larmes, 
who  reads  all  the  novels,  and  rolls  her  great 
eyes  around  the  ball-room, — who  laughs  at  the 
idea  of  such  a  girl  as  Blanche  Amory  in  Pen- 
dennis, — who  would  be  pensive  if  she  were  not  so 
plump, — who  likes  "  nothing  so  much  as  walk 
ing  on  the  cliff  by  moonlight," — who  wonders 
that  girls  should  want  to  dance  on  warm  sum 
mer  nights  when  they  have  Nature,  "  and  such 
nature,"  before  them, — who,  in  fact,  would  be  a 

mere  emotion  if  she  were  not  a  bouncing  girl, — 
7* 


154  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

Laura  Larmes  wonders  that  any  man  can  be  so 
happy  as  Kurz  Pacha. 

"Ah!  Kurz  Pacha,"  she  says  to  him  as  they 
stroll  upon  the  piazza,  after  he  has  been  dancing 
(for  the  minister  dances,  and  swears  it  is  essential 
to  diplomacy  to  dance  well),  "  are  you  really  so 
very  happy  ?  Is  it  possible  you  can  be  so  gay  ? 
Do  you  find  nothing  mournful  in  life?" 

"Nothing,  my  best  Miss  Laura,"  he  replies,  "to 
speak  of;  as  somebody  said  of  religion.  You, 
who  devote  yourself  to  melancholy,  the  moon, 
and  the  source  of  tears,  are  not  so  very  sad  as 
you  think.  You  cry  a  good  deal,  I  don't  doubt. 
But  when  grief  goes  below  tears,  and  forces  you 
in  self-defence  to  try  to  forget  it,  not  to  sit  and 
fondle  it, — then  you  will  understand  more  than 
you  do  now.  I  pity  those  of  your  sex,  upon 
ivhom  has  fallen  the  reaction  of  wealth, — for 
ivhom  there  is  no  career, — who  must  sit  at 
.iome  and  pine  in  a  splendid  ennui, — who  have 
learned  and  who  know,  spite  of  sermons  and 
'  sound,  sensible  views  of  things,'  that  to  enjoy 
the  high  'privilege'  of  reading  books, — of  culti 
vating  their  minds,  and,  when  they  are  married, 


TATTLE'S  DIARY.  155 

minding  tlieir  babies,  and  ministering  to  the 
drowsy,  after-dinner  ease  of  tlieir  husbands,  is 
not  the  fulfilment  of  their  powers  and  hopes. 
But,  my  amiable  Miss  Larmes,  this  is  a  class  of 
girls  and  women  who  are  not  solicitous  about 
wearing  black  when  their  great-aunt  in  Denmark 
dies,  whom  they  never  saw,  nor  when  the  only 
friend  who  made  heaven  possible  to  them,  falls 
dead  at  their  sides.  Nor  do  they  avoid  Mrs. 
Potiphar's  balls  as  a  happiness  which  they  are 
not  happy  enough  to  enjoy — nor  do  they  suppose 
that  all  who  attend  that  festivity — dancing  to  Mrs. 
P.'s  hired  music  and  drinking  Mr.  P.'s  fine  wines 
— are  utterly  given  over  to  hilarity  and  superficial 
enjoyment.  I  do  not  even  think  they  would  be 
likely  to  run — with  rounded  eyes,  deep  voice, 
and  in  very  exuberant  health — to  any  one  of  us 
jaded  votaries  of  fashion,  and  say,  How  can  you 
be  so  happy  ?  My  considerate  young  friend, 
'  strong  walls  do  not  a  prison  make,' — nor  is  a 
man  necessarily  happy  because  he  hops.  You 
are  certainly  not  unhappy  because  you  make 
eyes  at  the  moon,  and  adjudge  life  to  be  vanity 
and  vexation.  Your  mind  is  only  obscured  by 


156  THE    POTIPHAR    PAPERS. 

a  few  morning  vapors.  They  arc  evanescent  as 
the  dew,  and  when  you  remember  them  at  even 
ing  they  will  seem  to  you  but  as  pensive  splen 
dors  of  the  dawn." 

Laura  has  her  revenge  for  all  this  snubbing, 
of  course.  She  does  not  attempt  to  disguise  her 
opinion  that  Kurz  Pacha  is  a  man  of  "foreign 
morals,"  as  she  well  expresses  it.  "A  very  gay, 
agreeable  man,  who  glides  gently  over  the  sur 
face  of  things,  but  knows  nothing  of  the  real 
trials  and  sorrows  of  life,"  says  the  melancholy 
Laura  Larmes,  whose  appetite  continues  good, 
and  who  fills  a  large  armchair  comfortably. 

It  is  my  opinion,  however,  that  people  of  a 
certain  size  should  cultivate  the  hilarious  rather 
than  the  unhappy.  Diogenes,  with  the  propor 
tions  of  Alderman  Gobble,  could  not  have  suc 
ceeded  as  a  C3'nic. 

Here  at  Newport  there  is  endless  opportunity 
of  detecting  these  little  absurdities  of  our  fellow- 
creatures.  In  fact,  one  of  the  greatest  charms 
of  a  watering-place,  to  me,  is  the  facility  one 
enjoys  of  understanding  the  whole  game,  which 
is  somewhat  concealed  in  the  city.  Watering- 


MINERVA  TATTLE'S  DIARY.  157 

place  life  is  a  full-dress  parade  of  social  weak 
nesses.  "We  all  enjoy  a  kind  of  false  intimacy, 
an  accidental  friendship.  Old  Carbuncle  and 
young  Topaz  meet  on  the  common  ground  of  a 
good  cigar.  Mrs.  Peony  and  Daisy  Clover  are 
intimate  at  all  hours.  Why  ?  Because,  on  the 
one  hand,  Mrs.  P.  knows  that  youth,  and  grace, 
and  beauty,  are  attractive  to  men,  and  that  if 
Miss  Eosa  Peony,  her  daughter,  has  not  those 
advantages,  it  is  well  to  have  in  the  neighbor 
hood  a  magnet  strong  enough  to  draw  the  men. 
On  the  other  hand,  Daisy  Clover  is  a  girl  of 
srood  sense  enough  to  know — even  if  she  didn't 

c>  o 

know  it  by  instinct — that  men  in  public  places 
like  the  prestige  of  association  with  persons  of 
acknowledged  social  position,  which,  by  hook 
or  by  crook,  Mrs.  Peony  undoubtedly  enjoys. 
Therefore  to  be  of  Mrs.  P.'s  party  is  to  be  well 
placed  in  the  catalogue — the  chances  are  fairer 
— the  gain  is  surer.  Upon  seeing  Daisy  Clover 
with  quiet  little  Mrs.  Clover,  or  plain  old  aunt 
Honeysuckle, — people  would  inquire,  Who  are 
the  Clovers?  And  no  one  would  know.  But 
to  be  with  Mrs.  Peony,  morning,  noon,  and 


158  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

night,  is  to  answer  all  questions  of  social  po 
sition. 

But,  unhappily,  in  the  city  things  are  changed. 
There  no  attraction  is  necessary  but  the  fine 
house,  gay  parties,  and  understood  rank  of  Mrs. 
Peony  to  draw  men  to  Miss  Rosa's  side.  In 
Newport  it  does  very  well  not  to  dance  with 
her.  But  in  the  city  it  doesn't  do  not  to  be  at 
Mrs.  Peony's  ball.  Who  knows  it  so  well  as 
that  excellent  lady  ?  Therefore  darling  Daisy 
is  dropped  a  little  when  we  all  return. 

"  Sweet  girl,"  Mrs.  P.  says,  "  really  a  delight 
ful  companion  for  Rosa  in  the  summer,  and  the 
father  and  mother  are  such  nice,  excellent 
people.  Not  exactly  people  that  one  knows,  to 
be  sure — but  Miss  Daisy  is  really  amiable  and 
quite  accomplished." 

Daisy  goes  to  an  occasional  party  at  the 
Peony's.  .But  at  the  opera  and  the  theatre,  and 
at  the  small,  intimate  parties  of  Rosa  and  her 
friends,  the  darling  Daisy  of  Newport  is  not 
visible.  However,  she  has  her  little  revenges. 
She  knows  the  Peonys  well:  and  can  talk  in 
telligently  about  them,  which  puts  her  quite  on 


MINERVA  TATTLE'S  DIARY.  159 

a  level  with  them  in  the  estimation  of  her  own 
set.  She  rules  in  the  lower  sphere,  if  not  in 
the  higher,  and  Daisy  Clover  is  in  the  way  of 
promotion.  Yes,  and  if  she  be  very  rich,  and 
papa  and  mamma  are  at  all  presentable,  or  if 
they  can  be  dexterously  hushed  up,  there  is  no 
knowing  but  Miss  Daisy  Clover  will  suddenly 
bloom  upon  the  world  as  Mrs.  P.'s  daughter-in- 
law,  wife  of  that  "  gentlemanly"  young  man, 
Mr.  Puffer  Peony. 

Naturally  it  pains  me  very  much  to  be 
obliged  to  think  so  of  the  people  with  whom  I 
associate.  But  I  suppose  they  are  as  good  as 
any.  As  Kurz  Pacha  says :  "  If  I  fly  from  a 
Chinaman  because  he  wears  his  hair  long  like 
a  woman,  I  must  equally  fly  the  Frenchman 
because  he  shaves  his  like  a  lunatic.  The  story 
of  Jack  Spratt  is  the  apologue  of  the  world." 
It  is  astonishing  how  intimate  he  is  with  our 
language  and  literature.  By-the-bye,  that  Polly 
Potiphar  has  been  mean  enough  to  send  out  to 
Paris  for  the  very  silk  that  I  relied  upon  as 
this  summer's  cheval  de  bataille,  and  has  just  re- 
seived  it  superbly  made  up.  The  worst  of  it  is 


160  THE    POTIPHAU    PAPERS. 

that  it  is  just  the  thing  for  her.  She  wore  it 
at  the  ball  the  other  night,  and  expected  to 
have  crushed  me,  in  mine.  Not  she !  I  have 
not  summered  it  at  Newport  for — well,  for 
several  years,  for  nothing,  and  although  I  am 
rather  beyond,  the  strict  white  muslin  age,  I 
thought  I  could  yet  venture  a  bold  stroke.  So 
I  arrayed  a  la  Daisy  Clover, — not  too  much,  pas 
trop  jeune.  And  awaited  the  onset. 

Kurz  Pacha  saw  me  across  the  room,  and 
came  up,  with  his  peculiar  smile.  He  did  not 
look  at  my  dress,  but  he  said  to  me,  rather 
wickedly,  looking  at  my  boquet: 

"  Dear  me !  I  hardly  hoped  to  see  spring 
flowers  so  late  in  the  summer." 

Then  he  raised  his  eyes  to  mine,  and  I  am 
conscious  that  I  blushed. 

"It's  very  warm.  You  feel  very  warm,  I  am 
sure,  my  dear  Miss  Tattle,"  he  continued,  look 
ing  straight  at  my  face. 

"  You  are  sufficiently  cool,  at  least,  I  think," 
replied  I. 

"  Naturally,"  said  he,  "  for  I've  been  in  the 
immediate  vicinity  of  the  boreal  pole  for  half 


MINERVA  TATTLE'S  DIARY.  161 

an  hour — a  neighborhood  in  which,  I  am  told, 
even  the  most  ardent  spirits  sometimes  freeze — 
so  you  must  pardon  me  if  I  am  more  than 
usually  dull,  Miss  Minerva." 

And  the  Pacha  beat  time  to  the  waltz  with 
his  head. 

I  looked  at  the  part  of  the  room  from  which 
he  had  just  come,  and  there,  sure  enough,  in 
the  midst  of  a  group,  I  saw  the  tall,  and  stately, 
and  still  Ada  Aiguille. 

"  He  is  a  hardy  navigator,"  continued  Kurz 
Pacha,  "  who  sails  for  the  boreal  pole.  It  is 
glittering  enough,  but  shipwreck  by  daylight 
upon  a  coral  reef,  is  no  pleasanter  than  by  night 
upon  Newport  shoals." 

"Have  you  been  shipwrecked,  Kurz  Pacha?" 
asked  I  suddenly. 

He  laughed  softly:  "No,  Miss  Minerva,  I  am 
not  one  of  the  hardy  navigators ;  I  keep  close 
in  to  the  shore.  Upon  the  slightest  symptom 
of  an  agitated  sea,  I  furl  my  sails,  and  creep 
into  a  safe  harbor.  Besides,  dear  Miss  Minna, 
I  prefer  tropical  cruises  to  the  Antarctic  voyage." 

And   the   old   wretch   actually  looked   at  my 


162  THE   POTIPHAK    PAPEKS. 

black  hair.  I  might  have  said  something — ap 
proving  his  taste,  perhaps,  who  knows? — when 
I  saw  Mrs.  Potiphar.  She  was  splendidly  dressed 
in  the  silk,  and  it's  a  pity  she  doesn't  become 
a  fine  dress  better.  She  made  for  me  directly. 

"Dear  Minna,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you.  "SVhy 
how  young  and  fresh  you  look  to-night,  lleally, 
quite  blooming!  And  such  a  sweet  pretty  dress, 
too,  and  the  darling  baby-waist  and  all — 

"  Yes,"  said  that  witty  Gauche  Boosey,  "  per 
mit  me,  Miss  Tattle, — quite  an  incarnate  sera 
phim,  upon  my  word." 

"  You  are  too  good,"  replied  I,  "my  dear  Poll}', 
it  is  your  dress  which  deserves  admiration,  and  I 
flatter  myself  in  saying  so,  for  it  is  the  very  coun 
terpart  of  one  I  had  made  some  months  ago." 

"Yes,  darling,  and  which  you  have  not  yet 
worn,"  replied  she.  "  I  said  to  Mr.  P.,  '  Mr.  P.,' 
said  I,  'there  are  few  women  upon  whose  ami 
ability  I  can  count  as  I  can  upon  Minerva  Tattle's, 
and,  therefore,  I  am  going  to  have  a  dress  like 
hers.  Most  women  would  be  vexed  about  it,  and 
say  ill-natured  things  if  I  did  so.  But  if  I  have 
a  friend,  it  is  Minerva  Tattle;  and  she- will  never 


MINERVA  TATTLE'S  DIARY.  163 

$ 

grudge  it  to  me  for  a  moment.'     It's  pretty ;  isn't 

it  ?     Just  look  here  at  this  trimming." 

And  she  showed  me  the  very  handsomest  part 

of  it,  and  so  much  handsomer  than  mine,  that  I 

can  never  wear  it. 

"  Polly,  I  am  so  glad  you  know  me  so  well," 

said  I.     "  I'm  delighted  with  the  dress.     To  be 

C-* 

sure,  it's  rather  prononcb  for  your  style  ;  but  that's 
nothing." 

Just  then  a  polka  struck  up.  "Come  along! 
give  me  this  turn,"  said  Boosey,  and  putting  his 
arm  round  Mrs.  Potiphar's  waist,  he  whirled  her 
off  into  the  dance. 

How  I  did  hope  somebody  would  come  to  ask 
me.  Nobody  came. 

"You  don't  dance?"  asked  Kurz  Pacha,  who 
stood  by  during  my  little  talk  with  Polly  P. 

"  Oh !  yes,"  answered  I,  and  hummed  the 
polka. 

Kurz  Pacha  hummed  too,  looked  on  at  the 
dancers  a  few  minutes,  then  turned  to  me,  and 
looking  at  my  bouquet,  said . 

"It  is  astonishing  how  little  taste  there  is  for 
spring-flowers." 


164  THE    POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

At  that  moment  young  Croesus  "  came  in" 
warm  with  the  whirl  of  the  dance,  with  Daisy 
Clover. 

"  It's  very  warm,"  said  he,  in  a  gentlemanly 
manner. 

"  Dear  me !  yes,  very  warm,"  said  Daisy. 

"Been  long  in  Newport?" 

"  No ;  only  a  few  days.  We  always  come, 
after  Saratoga,  for  a  couple  of  weeks.  But 
isn't  it  delightful  ?" 

"Quite  so,"  said  Timon,  coolly,  and  smiling 
at  the  idea  of  any  body's  being  enthusiastic 
about  any  thing.  That  elegant  youth  has 
pumped  life  dry ;  and  now  the  pump  only 
wheezes. 

"  Oh  !"  continued  Daisy,  "  it's  so  pleasant  to 
run  away  from  the'  hot  city,  and  breathe  this 
cool  air.  And  then  Nature  is  so  beautiful. 
Are  you  fond  of  Nature,  Mr.  Croesus?" 

"Tolerably,"  returned  Timon. 

"Oh!  but  Mr.  Croasus!  to  go  to  the  glen 
and  skip  stones,  and  to  walk  on  the  cliff,  and 
drive  to  Bateman's,  and  the  fort,  and  to  go  to 
the  beach  by  moonlight;  and  then  the  bowling- 


MINERVA  TATTLE'S  DIARY.  165 

alley,  and  the  archery,  and  the  Germania.  Oh! 
it's  a  splendid  place.  But,  perhaps,  you  don't 
like  natural  scenery,  Mr.  Croesus?" 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  Mr.  Croesus. 

"  Well,  some  people  don't,"  said  darling  little 
Daisy,  folding  up  her  fan,  as  if  quite  ready  for 
another  turn. 

"  Come,  now ;  there  it  is,"  said  Timon,  and, 
grasping  her  with  his  right  arm,  they  glided 
away. 

"Kurz  Pacha,"  said  I,  "I  wonder  who  sent 
Ada  Aiguille  that  bouquet?" 

"Sir  John  Franklin,  I  presume,"  returned  he. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked  I. 

Before  he  could  answer,  Boosey  and  Mrs. 
Potiphar  stopped  by  us. 

"No,  no,  Mr.  Boosey,"  panted  Mrs.  P.,  "I 
will  not  have  him  introduced.  They  say  his 
father  actually  sells  drygoods  by  the  yard  in 
Buffalo." 

"Well,  but  he  doesn't,   Mrs.   Potiphar." 

"I  know  that,  and  it's  all  very  well  for  you 
yoang  men  to  know  him,  and  to  drink,  and 
play  billiards,  and  smoke,  with  him.  And  he 


166  THE    POTIPHAR    PAPERS. 

is  handsome  to  be  sure,  and  gentlemanly,  and 
I  am  told,  very  intelligent.  But,  you  know, 
we  can't  be  visiting  our  shoemakers  and  shop 
men.  That's  the  great  difficulty  of  a  watering- 
place,  one  doesn't  know  who's  who.  Why  Mrs. 
Gnu  was  here  three  summers  ago,  and  there 
sat  next  to  her,  at  table,  a  middle-aged  foreign 
gentleman,  who  had  only  a  slight  accent,  and 
who  was  so  affable  and  agreeable,  so  intelligent 
and  modest,  and  so  perfectly  familiar  with  all 
kinds  of  little  ways,  you  know,  that  she  sup 
posed  he  was  the  Russian  Minister,  who,  she 
heard,  was  at  Newport  incognito  for  his  health. 
She  used  to  talk  with  him  in  the  parlor,  and 
allowed  him  to  join  her  upon  the  piazza.  No 
body  could  find  out  who  he  was.  There  were 
suspicions,  of  course.  But  he  paid  his  bills, 
drove  his  horses,  and  was  universally  liked. 
Dear  me !  appearances  are  so  deceitful !  who  do 
you  think  he  was?" 

"I'm  sure  I  can't  imagine." 

"Well,  the  next  spring  she  went  to  a  music 
store  in  Philadelphia,  to  buy  some  guitar  strings 
for  Claribel,  and  who  should  advance  to  sell 


MINERVA  TATTLE'S  DIARY.  167 

them  but  the  Russian  Minister!  Mrs.  Gnu  said 
she  colored — " 

"  So  I've  always  understood,"  said  Gauche, 
laughing. 

"  Fie !  Mr.  Boosey,"  continued  Mrs.  P.  smiling. 
"But  the  music-seller  didn't  betray  the  slightest 
consciousness.  He  sold  her  the  strings,  received 
the  money,  and  said  nothing,  and  looked  nothing. 
Just  think  of  it !  She  supposed  him  to  be  a 
gentleman,  and  he  was  really  a  music-dealer. 
You  see  that's  the  sort  of  thing  one  is  exposed 
to  here,  and  though  your  friend  may  be  very 
nice,  it  isn't  safe  for  me  to  know  him.  In  a 
country  where  there's  no  aristocracy  one  can't 
be  too  exclusive.  Mrs.  Peony  says  she  thinks 
that  in  future  she  shall  really  pass  the  summer 
in  a  farm-house,  or  if  she  goes  to  a  watering- 
place,  confine  herself  to  her  own  rooms  and  her 
carriage,  and  look  at  people  through  the  blinds. 
I'm  afraid,  myself,  it's  coming  to  that.  Every 
body  goes  to  Saratoga  now,  and  you  see  how 
Newport  is  crowded.  For  my  part  I  agree 
with  the  Rev.  Cream  Cheese,  that  there  are 
serious  evils  in  a  republican  form  of  government. 


168  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

What  a  hideous  head-dress  that  is  of  Mrs.  Settum 
Downe's  !  What  a  lovely  polka-redowa !" 

"  So  it  is,  by  Jove !  Come  on,"  replied  the 
gentlemanly  Boosey,  and  they  swept  down  the 
hall. 

"Ah!  del!"  exclaimed  a  voice  close  by  us — 
Kurz  Pacha  and  I  turned  at  the  same  moment. 
"We  beheld  a  gentleman  twirling  his  moustache 
and  a  lady  fanning.  They  were  smiling  intelli 
gently  at  each  other,  and  upon  his  whispering 
something  that  I  could  not  hear,  she  said,  "Fif 
done,"  and  folding  her  fan  and  laying  her  arm 
upon  his  shoulder,  they  slid  along  again  in  the 
dance. 

"Who  is  that?''  inquired  the  Pacha. 

"Don't  you  know  Mrs.  Yite?"  said  I,  glad 
of  my  chance.  "Why,  my  dear  sir,  she  is  our 
great  social  success.  She  shows  what  America 
can  do  under  a  French  regime.  She  performs 
for  society  the  inestimable  service  of  giving 
some  reality  to  the  pictures  of  Balzac  and  George 
Sand,  by  the  quality  of  her  life  and  manners. 
She  is  just  what  you  would  expect  a  weak  Ameri 
can  girl  to  be  who  was  poisoned  by  Paris, — who 


MINERVA  TATTLE'S  DIARY.  169 

mistook  what  was  most  obvious  for  what  was 
most  characteristic, — whose  ideas  of  foreign  soci 
ety  and  female  habits  were  based  upon  an  expe 
rience  of  resorts,  more  renowned  for  ease  than 
elegance, — who  has  no  instinct  fine  enough  to 
tell  her  that  a  lionne  cannot  be  a  lady, — who  imi 
tates  the  worst  manners  of  foreign  society,  without 
the  ability  or  opportunity  of  perceiving  the  best, 
— who  prefers  a  double  entendre  to  a  bon-mot, — 
who  courts  the  applause  of  men  whose  acquaint 
ance  gentlemen  are  careless  of  acknowledging, — 
who  likes  fast  driving  and  dancing,  low  jokes, 
and  low  dresses, — who  is,  therefore,  bold  without 
wit,  noisy  without., mirth,  and  notorious  without 
a  desirable  reputation.  That  is  Mrs.  Vite." 

Kurz  Pacha  rolled  up  his  eyes. 

';  Good  Jupiter !  Miss  Minerva,"  cried  he,  "  is 
this  you  that  I  hear?  Why,  you  are  warmer 
in  your  denunciation  of  this  little  wisp  of  a 
woman  than  you  ever  were  of  flit  old  Madame 
Gorgon,  with  her  prodigious  paste  diamonds. 
Really,  you  take  it  too  hard.  And  you,  too, 
who  used  to  skate  so  nimbly  over  the  glib  sur 
face  of  society,  and  cut  such  coquettish  figures 
8 


170  Tin;  POT  i  PI  i  A  i;  PA  PURS. 

of  eight  upon  the  characters  of  your  friends. 
You  must  excuse  me,  but  it  seems  to  me  odd 
that  Miss  Minerva  Tattle,  who  used  to  treat 
serious  things  so  lightly,  should  no\v  be  treat 
ing  light  things  so  seriously.  You  ought  t<> 
frequent  the  comic  opera  more,  and  dine  with 
Mrs.  Potiphar  once  a  week.  If  your  good-humor 
can't  digest  such  a  //"/•»•  d'a-uvrc  as  little  Mrs.  Yit>', 
what  will  you  do  with  such  a  i>icce  de  rcxisiana'  a.s 
Madame  Gorgon?'7 

Odious  plain  speaker!  Yet  I  like  the  man. 
But,  before  I  could  reply,  up  came  another  couple 
— Caroline  Pettitoes  and  Xonnan  de  Famille. 

"You  were  at  the   bowling-alley?''  said  he. 

"  Yes,''   answered  Caroline. 

''You  saw   tltem  together?" 

"  Yes." 

"Well,  what  do  you  think?" 

''Why,  of  course,  that  if  he  is  not  engaged 
to  her  he  ought  to  be.  lie  has  taken  her  out 
in  his  wagon  three  times,  he  has  sent  her  four 
bouquets,  he  waltzes  with  her  every  night,  ho 
bowls  with  her  party  every  morning,  and  if 
that  does  not  mean  that  he  wants  to  marry  her, 


MINERVA   TATTLE'S   DIARY.  171 

I  should  like  to  know  what  it  does  mean,"  re 
plied  Caroline,  tossing  her  head. 

Norman  do  Famille  smiled,  and  Caroline  con 
tinued,  with  rather  a  flushed  face,  because  Nor 
man  had  been  doing  very  much  the  same  thing 
with  her : 

"  What  is  a  girl  to  understand  by  such  at 
tentions  ?" 

''Why,  that  the  gentleman  finds  it  an  amusing 
game,  and  hopes  she  is  equally  pleased,"  returned 
De  Famille. 

"  Merd,  M.  de  Famille,"  said  Caroline,  with 
an  energy  I  never  suspected  in  her,  "  and  at 
the  end  of  the  game  she  may  go  break  her 
heart,  I  suppose." 

"  Hearts  arc  not  so  brittle,  Miss  Pettitoes," 
replied  Norman.  "  Besides,  why  should  you 
girls  always  play  for  such  high  stakes  ?" 

They  were  just  about  beginning  the  waltz 
again,  when  the  music  stopped,  and  they  walked 
away.  But  I  saw  the  tears  in  Caroline's  eyes. 
I  don't  know  whether  they  were  tears  of  vexa 
tion,  or  of  disappointment.  The  men  have  the 
advantage  of  us  because  they  can  control  their 


172  THE   POTJP11AH   PAPERS. 

emotions  so  much  better.  I  suppose  Caroline 
blushed  and  cried,  because  she  found  herself 
blushing  and  crying,  quite  as  much  as  because 
she  fancied  her  partner  didn't  care  for  her. 

I  turned  to  Knrz  Pacha,  who  stood  by  my 
side,  smiling,  and  rubbing  his  hands. 

"A  charming  evening  we  have  had  of  it.  Miss 
Minerva,"  said  he,  "an  epitome  of  life — a  kind 
of  last-new-novel  effect.  The  things  that  we  have 
heard  and  seen  here,  multiplied  and  varied  by 
a  thousand  or  so,  produce  the  net  result  of  Xe\v- 
port.  Given,  a  large  house,  music,  piazzas, 
beaches,  cliff,  port,  griddle-cakes,  fast  horses, 
sherry-cobblers,  ten-pins,  dust,  artificial  flowers, 
innocence,  worn-out  hearts,  loveliness,  black-legs, 
bank-bills,  small  men,  large  coat-sleeves,  little 
boots,  jewelry,  and  polka-redowas  ad  Ubitmn, 
to  produce  August  in  Newport.  For  my  part, 
Miss  Minerva,  I  like  it.  But  it  is  a  dizzy  and 
perilous  game.  I  profess  to  seek  and  enjoy  emo 
tions,  so  I  go  to  watering-places.  Ada  Aiguille 
says  she  doesn't  like  it.  She  declares  that  she 
thinks  less  of  her  fellow-creatures  after  she  has 
been  here  a  little  while.  She  goes  to  the  citv 


MINERVA  TATTLE'S  DIARY.  173 

afterward  to  refit  her  faith,  probably.  Daisy 
Clover  thinks  it's  heavenly.  Darling  little  Daisy ! 
life  is  an  endless  German  cotillon  to  her.  She 
thinks  the  world  is  gay  but  well-meaning,  is  sure 
that  it  goes  to  church  on  Sundays,  and  never 
tells  lies.  Ccrulea  Bass  looks  at  it  for  a  moment 
with  her  hard,  round,  ebony  eyes,  and  calmly 
wonders  that  people  will  make  such  fools  of  them 
selves.  And  you,  Miss  Minerva,  pardon  me,— 
you  come  because  you  are  in  the  habit  of  coming 
—because  you  are  not  happy  out  of  such  society, 
and  have  a  tantalizing  sadness  in  it.  Your  sys 
tem  craves  only  the  piquant  sources  of  scandal 
and  sarcasm,  which  can  never  satisfy  it.  You 
wish  that  you  liked  tranquil  pleasures  and  be 
lieved  in  men  and  women.  But  you  get  no 
nearer  than  a  wish.  You  remember  when  you 
did  believe,  but  you  remember  with  a  shudder 
and  a  sigh.  You  pass  for  a  brilliant  woman. 
You  go  out  to  dinners  and  balls ;  and  men  are, 
what  is  called,  '  afraid  of  you.'  You  scorn  most 
of  us.  You  are  not  a  favorite,  but  your  pride 
is  flattered  by  the  very  fear  on  the  part  of  others 
which  prevents  your  being  loved.  Time  and 


174  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

yourself  are  your  only  enemies,  and  they  arc 
in  league,  for  you  betray  yourself  to  him.  You 
have  found  youth  the  most  fascinating  and  fatal  of 
flirts,  but  he,  although  your  heart  and  hope  clung 
to  him  despairingly,  lias  jilted  you  and  thrown 
you  by.  Let  him  go,  if  you  can.  and  throw 
after  him  the  white  muslin  and  the  baby-waist. 
Give  up  milk  and  the  pastoral  poets.  Sail,  at 
least,  under  your  own  colors ;  even  pirates  hoist 
a  black  flag.  An  old  belle  who  endeavors  to 
retain  by  sharp  wit  and  spicy  scandal  the  place 
she  held  only  in  virtue  of  youth  and  spirited 
beauty,  is,  in  a  new  circle  of  youth  and  beauty, 
like  an  enemy  firing  at  you  from  the  windows 
of  your  own  house.  The  difficulty  of  your  posi 
tion,  dear  Miss  Minerva,  is,  that  you  can  never 
deceive  those  who  alone  are  worth  deceiving. 
Daisy  Clover  and  Young  America,  of  course,  con 
sider  you  a  talented,  tremendous  kind  of  woman. 
Daisy  Clover  wonders  all  the  men  are  not  in 
love  with  you.  Young  America  sniffs  and  shakes 
its  little  head,  and  says  disapprovingly,  'Strong 
minded  woman !'  But  you  fail,  you  know,  not 
withstanding.  You  couldn't  bring  old  Potiphar 


MINERVA  TATTLE'S  DIARY.  175 

to  his  knees  when  he  first  came  home  from  China, 
and  he  must  needs  plunge  in  love  with  Miss 
Poll}",  whom  you  despised,  but  who  has  certainly 
profited  by  her  intimacy  with  Mrs.  Gnu,  Mrs. 
Croesus,  and  Mrs.  Settum  Downe,  as  you  saw 
by  her  conversation  with  you  this  evening. 

"  Ah,  Miss  Minerva,  I  am  only  a  benighted 
diplomat  from  Sennaar,  but  when  I  reflect  upon 
all  I  see  around  me  in  your  country ;  when  I  take 
my  place  with  terror  in  a  railroad  car,  because  the 
certainty  of  frightful  accidents  fills  all  minds  with 
the  same  vague  apprehension  as  if  a  war  were 
raging  in  the  land;  when  I  sec  the  universal 
rush  and  furv — young  men  who  never  smile, 

t,1  •/  CJ 

and  who  fall  victims  to  paralysis;  old  men  who 
are  tired  of  life  and  dread  death  ;  young  women 
pretty  and  incapable;  old  women  listless  and  use 
less;  and  both  }roung  and  old,  if  women  of  sense, 
perishing  of  ennui,  and  longing  for  some  kind  of 
a  career; — why,  I  don't  say  that  it  is  better  anv 
whorc  else, — perhaps  it  isn't, — in  most  ways  it 
certainly  is  not.  I  don't  say,  certainly,  that 
there's  a  higher  tone  of  life  ii;  London  or  Paris 
than  in  New  York,  but  only  that,  whatever  it 


176  THE   POTIPIIAR   PAPERS. 

may  be  there,  this,  at  least,  is  rather  a  miserable 
business." 

"  What  is  your  theory  of  life,  then  ?"  asked  I. 
"  What  do  you  propose  ?" 

Kurz  Pacha  smiled  again. 

;' Suppose,  Miss  Minerva,  I  say  the  Golden  Rule 
is  my  tJicory  of  life.  You  think  it  vague ;  but  it 
is  in  that  like  most  theories.  Then  I  propose  that 
we  shall  all  be  good.  Don't  you  think  it  a  feasi 
ble  proposition?  I  see  that  you  think  you  have 
effectually  disposed  of  all  complaint  by  challeng 
ing  the  complainer  to  suggest  a  remedy.  But  it 
is  clear  to  me  that  a  man  in  the  water  has  a  right 
to  cry  out,  although  he  may  not  distinctly  state 
ho\v  he  proposes  to  avoid  drowning.  Your  rea 
soning  is  that  of  those  excellent  Americans  who 
declare  that  foreign  nations  ought  not  to  strike 
for  a  republic  until  they  are  fit  for  a  republic — 
as  if  empires  and  monarchies  founded  colleges 
to  propagate  democracy.  Probably  you  think  it 
wiser  that  men  shouldn't  go  into  the  water  until 
they  can  swim.  Mr.  Carlyle,  I  remember,  was 
bitterly  reproached  for  grumbling  in  his  "  Chart 
ism,"  and  other  works,  as  if  a  man  had  no  moral 


MINERVA  TATTLE'S  DIARY.  177 

riglit  to  complain  of  hunger  until  he  had  grasped 
a  piece  of  bread.  '  What  do  you  propose  to  do, 
Mr.  Carlyle?'  said  they,  'what  with  the  Irish,  for 
instance  ?'  Mr.  C.  said  that  he  would  compel 
every  Irishman  to  work,  or  he  would  sink  the 
island  in  the  sea.  '  Barbarous  man,  this  is  your 
boasted  reform !'  cried  they  in  indignant  chorus, 
unsuited  either  way,  and  permitting  the  Irish  to 
go  to  the  dogs  in  the  mean  while.  So  suffer  me, 
dearest  Miss  Minerva,  to  regret  a  state  of  things 

7  O  <—- 

which  no  sensible  man  can  approve.  Even  if  it 
seems  to  you  light,  allow  me,  at  least,  to  treat  it 
seriously,  nor  suppose  I  love  any  thing  less,  be 
cause  I  would  see  it  better.  You  are  the  natural 
fruit  of  this  state  of  things,  0  Minerva  Tattle ! 
By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them.-' 

After  a  few  moments,  he  added  in  the  old  way  : 
"  Don't  think   I  am   going  to  break  mv  heart 

O  O  J 

about  it,  nor  lose  niy  appetite.  Look  at  the 
absurdity  of  the  whole  thing.  I'm  preaching  to 
you  in  your  baby- waist,  here  in  a  Newport  ball 
room  at  midnight.  I  humbly  beg  your  pardon. 
There  are  more  potent  preachers  here  than  I. 
Besides.  I'm  engaged  to  Mrs.  Potiphnrs  supper 


178  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

at  12.  Take  things  more  gently,  clear  Miss  Mi 
nerva.  Don't  make  faces  at  Mrs.  Vite,  nor  growl 
at  your  darling  Polly.  Women  as  smart  as  you 
are,  will  say  precisely  as  smart  things  of  you  as 
you  say  of  them.  We  shall  all  laugh,  first  with 
you,  and  then  at  you.  But  don't  deny  yourself 
the  pleasure  of  saying  the  smart  things  in  hope 
that  they  will  also  refrain.  That's  vanity,  not 
virtue.  People  are  much  better  than  you  think, 
but  they  are  also  much  worse.  I  might  have 
been  king  of  Sennaar,  but  I  am  only  his  ambas 
sador.  You  might  have  been  only  a  chamber 
maid,  but  you  are  the  brilliant  and  accomplished 
Miss  Tattle.  Turn,  turn,  turn,  ti,  ti,  ti, — what  a 
pretty  waltz!  Here  come  Daisy  and  Timon  Croe 
sus,  and  now  Mrs.  Potiphar  and  Gauche  Boosey, 
and  now  again  Caroline  Pettitoes  and  DC  Famillc. 
She  is  smiling  again,  you  see.  She  darts  through 
the  dance  like  a  sunbeam  as  she  is.  Caroline  is 
a  philosopher.  Just  now,  you  remember,  it  was 
down,  down,  down,- — now  it  is  up,  up,  up.  It  is 
a  good  world,  if  you  don't  rub  it  the  wrong  wav. 
Sit  in  the  sun  as  much  as  possible.  One  pro- 
serves  one's  complexion,  but  gets  so  cold  in  the 


MINERVA  TATTLE'S  DIARY.  179 

shade.  Ah!  there  comes  Mrs.'Potiphar.  Why, 
she  is  radiant  !  She  shakes  her  fan  at  me. 
Adieu,  Miss  Minerva.  Sweet  dreams.  To-mor 
row  morning  at  the  Bowling  Alley  at  eleven, 
you  know,  and  the  drive  at  six.  Au  revoir.'' 
And  he  was  gone.  The  ball  was  breaking  up. 
A  few  desperate  dancers  still  floated  upon  the 
floor.  The  chairs  were  empty.  The  women 
were  shawling,  and  the  men  stood  attendant 
with  bouquets.  I  went  to  a  window  and  looked 
out.  The  moon  was  rising,  a  wan,  waning  moon, 
The  broad  fields  lay  dark  beneath,  and  as  the 
music  ceased,  I  heard  the  sullen  roar  of  the  sea 
If  my  heart  ached  with  an  indefinite  longing, — 
if  it  felt  that  the  airy  epicurism  of  the  Pacha  was 
but  a  sad  cynicism,  masquerading  in  smiles, — if 
I  dreaded  to  ask  whether  the  wisest  were  not  the 
saddest, — if  the  rising  moon,  and  the  plunging  sea, 
and  the  silence  of  midnight,  were  mournful, — if 
I  envied  Daisy  Clover  her  sweet  sleep  and  vig 
orous  waking, — why,  no  one  need  ever  know  it, 
nor  suspect  that  the  brilliant  Minerva  Tattle  is  a 
failure. 


V. 

Clje  ffotijiljars  in  fjark 


A  LETTER  FROM  MISS  CAROLINE  PETTITOES  T(    MRS. 
SETTUM  DOWNE. 


C|e  fotijjjrdo  in  farts. 

A    LETTER    FROM    MIS3    CAROLINE    PETTITOES    TO    MRS. 
SETTUM    DOWNE. 


PARIS,   October. 

MY  DEAR  MRS.  DOWNE, — Here  we  are  at  last ! 
I  can  hardly  believe  it.  Our  coming  was  so  sud 
den  that  it  seems  like  a  delightful  dream.  You 
know  at  Mrs.  Potiphar's  supper  last  August  in 
Newport,  she  was  piqued  by  Gauche  Boosey's 
saying,  in  his  smiling,  sarcastic  way : 

"What!  do  you  really  think  this  is  a  pretty 
supper  ?  Dear  me !  Mrs.  Potiphar,  you  ought  to 
see  one  of  our  petits  soupers  in  Paris,  hey  Croe 
sus?"  and  then  he  and  Mr.  Timon  Croesus  lifted 
their  brows  knowingly,  and  smiled,  and  glanced 
compassionately  around  the  table. 

"  Paris,    Paris !"    cried    Mrs.    Potiphar ;    "  you 


184  TIIK  roTii'iiAi:  r.\rKi:s. 

young  men  arc  always  talking  about  Paris,  as 
if  it  were  heaven.  Oh!  Mr.  P.,  d<>  take  me  to 
Paris.  Let's  make  up  a  party,  and  slip  over. 
It's  so  easy  now,  you  know.  Come,  come,  Pot. 
I  know  you  won't  deny  me.  Just  for  two  or 
three  months.  The  truth  is,"  said  she,  turning 
to  IVOrsay  Firkin,  who  wore  that  evening  the 
loveliest  shirt-bosom  I  ever  saw,  "  I  want  to 
send  home  some  patterns  of  new  dresses  to  Mi- 
rierva  Tattle." 

They  all  laughed,  and  in  the  midst  Kurx, 
Pacha,  who  was  sitting  at  the  side  of  Mrs.  Pot- 
iphar,  inquired  : 

"  What  colors  suit  the  Indian  summer  best, 
Mrs.  Potiphar?" 

"Well,  a  kind  of  misty  color,"  said  Boosey, 
laughingly,  and  emphasizing  mis-wl,  as  if  lie 
meant  some  pun  upon  the  word. 

"  Which  conceals  the  outline  of  the  landscape," 
interrupted  Mrs.  Gnu. 

"  Cajoling  you  with  a  sense  of  warmth  on  tin- 
very  edge  of  winter,  eh  ?''  asked  the  Sennaar 
minister. 

Another  loud  lau<?h  rane  round  the  table. 


THE   POTIPHARS   IX   PARIS. 

"  I  thought  Minerva  Tattle  was  a  friend  of 
yours,  Kurz  Pacha,"  said  Mrs.  Gnu,  smiling  mis 
chievously,  and  playing  with  her  beautiful  bou 
quet,  which  Mrs.  Potiphar  told  me  Timon  Croesus 
had  sent  her. 

"  Certainly,  so  she  is,"  replied  he.  "  Miss 
Minerva  and  I  understand  each  other  perfectly. 
I  like  her  society  immensely.  The  truth  is,  I  am 
always  better  in  autumn ;  the  air  is  both  cool  and 
bright." 

As  he  said  this  he  looked  fixedly  at  Mrs.  Gnu, 
and  there  was  not  quite  so  much  laughing.  I  am 
sure  I  don't  know  what  they  meant  by  talking 
about  autumn.  I  was  busy  talking  with  Mr.  Fir 
kin  about  Daisy  Clover's  pretty  morning  dress  at 
the  Bowling  Alley,  and  admiring  his  shirt-bosom. 
Suddenly  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  an 
exquisite  bouquet  was  handed  in  for  Kurz  Pacha. 

"Why  didn't  you  wait  until  to-morrow?"  said 
he,  sharply. 

The  man  stammered  some  excuse,  and  the 
ambassador  took  the  flowers.  Mrs.  Gnu  looked 
at  them  closely,  and  praised  them  very  much, 
and  quietly  glanced  at  her  own,  which  were 


186  THE    POTIPIIATC    PAPERS. 

really  splendid.  Kurz  Pacha  showed  them  to 
all  the  ladies  at  table,  and  then  handed  them 
to  Mrs.  Potiphar,  saying  to  her,  as  he  half  looked 
at  Mrs.  Gnu  : 

"  There  is  nothing  autumnal  here.'' 

"  Mrs.  Potiphar  thanked  him  with  real  delight, 
and  he  turned  toward  Mrs.  Gnu,  at  whom  he 
had  been  constantly  looking,  and  who  was  play 
ing  placidly  with  her  bouquet,  and  said  with  the 
air  of  paving  a  great  compliment : 

"  To  otter  you  a  bouquet,  madame,  would  be  to 
throw  pearls  before  swine." 

We  were  all  silent  a  moment,  and  then  the 
young  men  sprang  up  together,  while  we  women 
*  laughed,  half  afraid. 

"Good  Heavens!  Kurz  Pacha,  what  do  you 
mean  ?"  cried  Mrs.  Potiphar. 

"Mean?"  answered  he,  evidently  confused,  and 
blushing;  "why,  I'm  afraid  I  have  made  some 
mistake.  I  meant  to  say  something  very  polite, 
but  my  English  sometimes  gives  way.'' 

"  Your  impudence  never  does,"  muttered  Mrs. 
Gnu,  who  was  unbecomingly  red  in  the  face. 

"  My  dear  madame,"  said  the  Minister  to  her, 


THE    FOTIPIIAES    IX    PARIS.  187 

li  I  assure  you  I  meant  only  to  use  a  proverb  in 
a  complimentary  way;  but  somehow  I  have  got 
the  wrong  pig  by  the  ear." 

There  was  another  burst  of  laughter.  The 
young  men  fairly  lay  down  and  screamed.  Mr. 
Potiphar  exploded  in  great  ha  ha's  and  ho  ho's, 
from  the  end  of  the  table. 

"  Mrs.  Potiphar,"  said  Mrs.  Gnu,  with  dignity, 
"  I  didn't  suppose  I  was  to  be  insulted  at  your 
table." 

And  she  went  toward  the  door. 

"  Mrs.  Gnu,  Mrs.  Gnu,"  said  Polly,  smothering 
her  laughter  as  well  as  she  could,  li  don't  go. 
Kurz  Pacha  will  explain.  I'm  sure  he  means 
no  insult." 

Here  she  burst  out  laughing  again ;  while  the 
poor  Sennaar  Ambassador  stood  erect,  and  utterly 
confounded  by  what  was  going  on. 

"  I'm  sure — I  don't  know — I  didn't — I  wouldn't 
—Mrs.  Gnu  knows;"  said  he,  in  the  greatest  em 
barrassment.  "  I  beg  your  pardon  sincerelv, 
madarnc."  And  he  looked  so  humble  and  re 
pentant  that  I  was  really  sorry  for  him  ;  but  I 
saw  Mr.  Firkin  laughing  afresh  everv  time  he 


188  THE    POTIPIIAR    PAPERS. 

looked  at  the  Ambassador,  as  if  be   saw  some 
thing  sly  behind  his  penitence. 

"Perhaps,"  said  Firkin  at  last,  "  Kurz  Pacha 
means  to  say  that  to  offer  flowers  to  a  lady  who 
has  already  so  beautiful  a  bouquet,  would  be  to 
carry  coals  to  Newcastle." 

"  That  is  it,"  cried  the  Pacha;  "  to  Newcastle," 
— and  he  bowed  to  Mrs.  Gnu. 

"  Come,  Mrs.  Gnu,  it's  only  a  mistake,"  said 
Mrs.  Potiphar. 

But  Mrs.  Gnu  looked  rather  angry  still,  although 
Gauche  Boosey  tried  very  hard  to  console  her,  say 
ing  as  many  bon  mots  as  he  could  think  of — and 
you  know  how  witty  he  is.  He  said  at  last : 

"  Why  is  Mrs.  Gnu  like  llachcl  ?" 

"Rachel  who?''  asked  I. 

I'm  sure  it  was  an  innocent  question ;  but  they 
all  fell  to  laughing  again,  and  Mr.  Firkin  posi 
tively  cried  with  fun. 

"  D'ye  give  it  up  ?"  asked  Mr.  Boosey. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Potiphar. 

"  Why,  because  she  will  not  be  comforted." 

"  There  wasn't  half  so  much  laughing  at  this 
as  at  my  question — although  Mrs.  Potiphar  said 


THE    POTIPHARS   IX    PARIS.  189 

it  was  capital,  and  I  thought  so  too,  when  I 
found  out  who  Rachel  was. 

But  Mrs.  Gnu  continued  to  be  like  Rachel,  and 
Mr.  Boosey  continued  to  try  to  amuse  her.  I 
think  it  was  very  hard  she  wouldn't  be  amused 
by  such  a  funny  man ;  and  he  said  at  last  aloud 
to  her,  meaning  all  of  us  to  hear : 

"Well,  Mrs.  Gnu,  upon  my  honor,  it  is  no 
epicure  to  try  to  console  you." 

She  did  laugh  at  this,  however,  and  so  did  the 
others. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  in  Sennaar,  Mr.  Boo 
sey  ?"  said  Kurz  Pacha. 

"No;  why?" 

"  Why,  I  thought  we  might  have  learned  Eng 
lish  at  the  same  school." 

Mr.  Boosey  looked  puzzled ;  but  Mr.  Potiphar 
broke  in  : 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Gnu,  I'm  glad  to  see  }rou  smile  at 
last.  After  all,  the  remark  of  the  Ambassador's 
was  only  what  they  would  call  in  France,  '  a  per 
fect  bougie  of  a  joke.'  " 

"  Good  evening,  Mrs.  Potiphar,"  cried  the 
Sennaar  Minister,  rising  suddenly,  and  running 


190  THE    POT1PHAK    1'Al'KKS. 

toward  the  door.  We  heard  liini  next  under 
the  window  going  off  in  great  shouts  of  laughter, 
and  whistling  in  the  intervals,  "Hail  Columbia!'' 
What  shocking  habits  he  has  for  a  minister! 

I  don't  know  how  it  was  that  Mr.  Potiphar 
was  in  such  good  humor;  but  he  promised  his 
wife  she  should  go  to  Paris,  and  that  she  might 
select  her  party.  So  she  invited  us  all  who 
were  at  the  table.  Mrs.  Gnu  declined :  but  I 
knew  mamma  would  let  me  go  with  the  Poti- 
phars. 

"  Dear  Pot.,"  said  Mrs.  P.,  "  we  shall  be  gone 
so  short  a  time,  and  shall  be  so  busy,  and  hurry 
ing  from  one  place  to  another,  that  we  had  bet 
ter  leave  little  Freddy  behind.  Poor,  dear  little 
fellow,  it  will  be  much  better  for  him  to  stay." 

Mr.  P.  looked  a  little  sober  at  this ;  but  lie 
said  nothing  except  to  ask  : 

"Shall  you  all  bo  ready  to  sail  in  a  fortnight?" 

"Certainly,  in  a  week,"  we  all  answered. 

"Well,  then,  we  must  hurry  home  to  prepare," 
said  he.  "  I  shall  write  for  state-rooms  for  us  in 
Monday's  boat,  Polly." 

"Very  well;  that's  a  dear  Pot.,"  said  she;  and 


THE    POTIPHARS    IN    PARIS.  191 

as  we  all  rose  she  went  up  to  him,  and  took  his 
arm  tenderly.  It  was  an  unusual  sight :  I  never 
saw  her  do  it  before.  Mrs.  Gnu  said  to  me : 

"  Well,   really,  that's  rather  peculiar.     I  think 
people  had  better  make  love  in  private." 

"No,  by  Jove,"  whispered  Mr.  Boosey  to  me; 
and  I  am  afraid  he  had  drank  freely,  as  I  have 
once  or  twice  before  heard  that  he  did;  but  the 
world  is  such  a  gossip! — "No,  she  doesn't  let 
Itcr  good  works  of  that  kind  shine  before  men." 
"Why,  Mr.  Boosey,"  said  I,  ''how  can  you?" 
Will  you  believe,  darling  Mrs.  Downe,  that 
instead  of  answering,  he  sort  of  winked  at  me, 
and  said,  under  his  voice,  "Good  night,  Caroline." 
I  drew  myself  up,  you  may  depend,  and  said 
coldly  : 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Boosey." 
He  drew  himself  up  too,  and  said  : 
"  I   called   you   Caroline,    you   called   me   Mr. 
Boosey." 

And  then  looking  straight  and  severely  at  me, 
he  actually  winked  again. 

Then,  of  course,  I  knew  he  was  not  responsible 
for  his  actions. 


192  THE    POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

Ah  me,  what  things  we  are !  Just  as  1 
was  leaving  the  room  with  Mrs.  Gnu,  who  had 
matronized  me,  Mr.  Boosey  came  up  with  such 
a  soft,  pleading  look  in  his  eyes,  that  seemed 
to  say,  "please  forgive  me,"  and  put  out  his  hand 
so  humbly,  and  appeared  so  sorry  and  so  afraid 
that  I  would  not  speak  to  him,  that  I  really 
pitied  him:  but  when,  in  his  low,  rich  voice,  he 
said : 

"  Nymph,  in  thy  orisons  be  all  my  sins 
remembered  !"- 

I  couldn't  hold  out;  wasn't  it  pretty?  So  I 
put  out  my  hand,  and  he  shook  it  tenderly,  and 
said  "  to-morrow"  in  a  way  —  well,  dear  Mrs. 
Downe,  I  will  be  frank  with  you — that  made 
me  happy  all  night. 

At  this  rate  I  shall  never  get  to  Paris.  But 
the  next  day  it  was  known  every  where  we 
\vere  going,  and  every  body  congratulated  us. 
Our  party  met  at  the  Bowling  Alley,  and  we 
began  to  make  all  kinds  of  plans. 

"  Oh  !  ice  II  take  care  of  all  the  arrangements," 
said  Mr.  Boosey,  nodding  toward  Mr.  Croesus 
and  Mr.  Firkin. 


THE   POTIPHARS   IN   PARIS.  193 

"Mr.  Boosey,  were  you  presented  to  the  Em 
peror?"  inquired  Kurz  Pacha. 

" Certainly  I  was,"  replied  he ;  "I  have  a  great 
respect  for  Louis  Napoleon.  Those  Frenchmen 
didn't  know  what  they  wanted ;  but  he  knew 
well  enough  what  he  wanted  :  they  didn't  want 
him,  perhaps,  but  he  did  want  them,  and  now 
he  has  them.  A  true  nephew  of  his  uncle,  Kurz 
Pacha;  and  you  can  see  what  a  man  the  great 
Napoleon  must  have  been,  when  the  little  Napo 
leon  succeeds  so  well  upon  the  strength  of  the 
name." 

11  Why,  you  are  really  enthusiastic  about  the 
Emperors,"  said  the  Ambassador. 

"Certainly,"  replied  Mr.  Boosey,  "I  have  al 
ways  been  a  great  Neapolitan." 

Kurz  Pacha  stared  at  him  a  moment,  and  then 
took  a  large  pinch  of  snuff  solemnly.  I  think 
it's  very  ill  bred  to  stare  as  he  does  sometimes, 
when  somebody  has  made  a  remark.  I  saw 
nothing  particular  in  that  speech  of  Mr.  Boosey's; 
and  yet  D'Orsay  Firkin  smiled  to  himself  as  he 
told  Mrs.  Gnu  it  was  her  turn. 

"  I  wonder,  my  dear  Mrs.  Potiphar,"  said  the 
9 


194  THE    I'UTli'HAK    I'APEKS. 

Sennaar  Minister,  seating  himself  by  her  side, 
as  the  game  went  on,  "  that  Europeans  should 
have  so  poor  an  idea  of  America  and  Americans, 
when  such  crowds  of  the  very  best  society  are 
constantly  crossing  the  ocean.  Now,  you  and 
your  friends  are  going  to  Paris,  perhaps  to  other 
parts  of  Europe,  and  I  should  certainly  suppose 
that,  without  flattery,  (taking  another  pinch  of 
snuff,)  the  foreigners  whom  you  meet  might  get 
rid  of  some  of  their  prejudices  against  the  Ameri 
cans.  You  will  go,  you  know,  as  the  representa 
tives  of  a  republic  where  social  ranks  are  not 
organized  to  the  exclusion  of  any ;  but  where 
talent  and  character  always  secure  social  con 
sideration.  The  simplicity  of  the  republican  idea 
and  system  will  appear  in  your  manners  and 
modes  of  life.  Leaving  to  the  children  of  a  soci 
ety  based  upon  antique  and  aristocratic  principles, 
to  squander  their  lives  in  an  aimless  luxury,  you 
will  carry  about  with  you,  as  it  were,  the  fresh 
airs  and  virgin  character  of  a  new  country  and 
civilization.  When  you  go  to  Paris,  it  will  be 
like  a  sweet  country  breeze  blowing  into  a  per 
fumer's  shop.  The  customers  will  scent  some- 


THE   POTIPHARS   IX   PARIS.  195 

thing  finer  than  the  most  exquisite  essence,  and 
will  prefer  the  fresh  fragrance  of  the  flower 
to  the  most  elaborate  distillation.  Hoses  smell 
sweeter  than  attar  of  roses.  You  and  your  party, 
estimable  lad}-,  will  be  the  roses.  You  will  not 
(am  I  right  this  time?)  carry  coals  to  Newcastle; 
for  if  any  of  your  companions  think  that  the 
sharp  eye  of  Paris  will  not  pierce  their  preten 
sions,  or  the  satiric  tongue  of  Paris  fail  to  im 
mortalize  it,  they  mistake  greatly.  You  cannot 
beat  Paris  with  its  own  weapons  ;  and  Paris 
will  immensely  respect  you  if  you  use  your  own. 
Poor  little  Mrs.  Vite  thinks  she  passes  for  a 
Parisienne  in  Paris.  Why,  there  is  not  a  chif 
fonier  in  the  street  at  midnight  that  couldn't 
see  straight  through  the  little  woman,  and  no 
thing  would  better  please  the  Jardin  Malille 
than  to  have  her  for  a  butt.  My  dear  madame, 
the  ape  is  a  very  ingenious  animal,  and  his 
form  much  resembles  the  human.  Moles,  prob 
ably,  and  the  inhabitants  of  the  planet  Jupiter,  do 
not  discern  the  difference ;  but  I  rather  think  we 
do.  A  ten-strike,  by  Venus  !  well  done,  Mrs.  Gnu," 
cried  the  Ambassador  ;  "  now,  Mrs.  Potiphar." 


19G  THE    POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

The  Pacha  didn't  play ;  but  he  asked  Mr.  Fir 
kin  what  was  a  good  average  for  a  man,  in  the 
game. 

"  Well,  a  spare  every  time,"  said  he. 

"  Mr.  Firkin,"  asked  Mrs.  Gnu,  "  what  is  a 
good  woman's  average?" 

"  Does  any  lady  here  know  that?"  inquired  the 
Pacha,  looking  round. 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Boosey ;  "  we  must  send  and 
inquire  of  Miss  Tattle." 

"  How  pleasantly  the  game  goes  on,  dear  Mrs. 
Gnu,"  said  the  Pacha ;  "  but  Miss  Minerva  ought 
to  be  here,  she  always  holds  such  a  good  hand  at 
every  game." 

"  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Gnu,  "  that  if  she  once  got 
a  good  hold  of  any  hand,  she  wouldn't  let  it  go 
immediately." 

"  Good  !"  shouted  Mr.  Boosey. 

"  Hi,  hi !"  roared  Mr.  Potiphar. 

The  Pacha  took  snuff  placidly,  and  said  quietly  : 

"  You've  fairly  trumped  my  trick,  and  taken  it, 
Mrs.  Gnu." 

"  I  should  say  the  trick  has  taken  her,"  whis 
pered  Mr.  Firkin  at  my  elbow  to  Kurz  Pacha. 


THE   POTIPHARS   IN   PARIS.  197 

The  Sennaar  Ambassador  opened  his  eyes  wide, 
and  offered  Mr.  Firkin  his  snuff-box. 

Monday  came  at  length.  It  was  well  known 
that  we  were  all  going — the  Potiphars  and  the 
rest  of  us.  Every  body  had  spoken  of  the  diffi 
culty  of  getting  state-rooms  on  the  steamer  to 
town,  and  hoped  we  had  spoken  in  time. 

"  I  have  written  and  secured  my  rooms,"  said 
Mr.  Potiphar  to  every  body  he  met ;  "I  am  not 
to  be  left  in  the  lurch,  my  dear  sir,  it  isn't  my 
way."  And  then  he  marched  on,  Gauche  Boosey 
said,  as  if  at  least  both  sides  of  the  street  were  his 
way.  He's  changed  a  great  deal  lately. 

The  De  Families  were  going  the  same  day. 
"  Hope  you've  secured  rooms,  De  Famille,"  said 
Mr.  Potiphar  blandly  to  him. 

"  No,"  answered  he,  shortly ;  "  no,  not  yet ;  it 
isn't  my  way ;  I  don't  mean  to  give  myself  trou 
ble  about  things ;  I  don't  bother ;  it  isn't  my 
way." 

And  each  went  his  own  way  up  and  down  the 
street.  But  early  on  Monday  afternoon  Mr.  De 
Famille  and  his  family  drove  toward  Fall  Eiver, 
from  which  place  the  boat  starts. 


198  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

Monday  evening  the  Potiphars  and  tlie  rest  of 
us  went  to  the  wharf  at  Newport,  and  presently 
the  boat  came  up.  We  bundled  on  board,  and 
as  soon  as  he  could  get  to  the  office  Mr.  Poti- 
phar  asked  for  the  keys  of  his  rooms. 

"Why,  sir,"  said  the  clerk,  "Mr.  DC  Families 
has  them.  He  came  on  board  at  Fall  River  and 
asked  for  your  keys,  as  if  the  rooms  had  been 
secured  for  him." 

"  What  does  that  mean  ?"  demanded  Mr.  Pot- 
iphar 

"Oh!  ah!  I  remember  now,"  said  Mr.  Boosey. 
"  I  saw  the  De  Families  all  getting  into  a  carriage 
for  a  little  drive,  as  Mr.  De  F.  said,  about  two 
o'clock  this  afternoon." 

Mr.  Potiphar  looked  like  a  thunder-storm. 
"  What  the  devil  does  it  mean  ?"  asked  he  of 
the  clerk,  while  the  passengers  hustled  him,  and 
punched  him,  and  the  hook  of  an  umbrella-stick 
caught  in  his  cravat-knot,  and  untied  it. 

'  Send  up  immediately,  and  say  that  Mr.  Poti-  , 
phar  wants  his  state-rooms,"  said  he  to  the  clerk. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  messenger  returned  and 
said — 


THE    POTIPHAES   IN   PARIS.  199 

"  Mr.  De  Famille's  compliments  to  Mr.  Poti- 
phar.  Mr.  De  Famille  and  his  family  have  re 
tired  for  the  night,  but  upon  arriving  in  the 
morning  he  will  explain  every  tiling  to  Mr. 
Potiphar's  satisfaction." 

"Jolly!"  whispered  Mr.  Boosey,  rubbing  his 
hands,  to  Mr.  Firkin,  on  whose  arm  I  was 
leaning. 

"  Are  you  fond  of  the  Italian  Opera,  Mr.  Poti- 
phar?"  inquired  Kurz  Pacha,  blandly. 

Mrs.  P.  sat  down  upon  a  settee  and  looked  at 
nothing. 

il  0  Patience !  do  verify  the  quotation  and 
smile,"  said  the  Ambassador  to  her. 

"It's  a  mean  swindle,"  said  Mr.  Potiphar.  "I'll 
have  satisfaction.  I'll  go  break  open  the  door," 
and  he  started. 

"  My  dear,  don't  be  in  a  passion,"  said  Mrs. 
Potiphar,  "  and  don't  be  a  fool.  Remember 
that  the  De  Families  are  not  people  to  be 
insulted.  It  won't  do  to  quarrel  with  the  De 
Families." 

"  Splendid!"  ejaculated  Kurz  Pacha. 

"  I've  no  doubt  he'll  explain  it  all  in  the  morn- 


200  THE    POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

ing,"  continued  Mrs.  Potiphar,  "  there's  some  mis 
take  ;  why  not  be  cool  about  it  ?  Beside,  Mr.  De 
Famille  is  an  elderly  gentleman  and  requires  his 
rest.  I  do  think  you're  positively  unchristian, 
Mr.  Potiphar.  The  idea  of  insulting  the  De 
Families !" 

And  Mrs.  Potiphar  patted  her  little  feet  upon 
the  floor  in  front  of  the  ladies'  cabin,  where  we 
were  all  collected. 

"  Where  are  you  going  to  sleep  ?"  asked  Mr. 
Potiphar  mildly. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  answered  she. 

We  had  an  awful  night.  It  was  worse  than 
any  night  at  sea.  Mrs.  P.  was  propped  up  in 
one  corner  of  a  settee  and  I  in  the  other,  and 
when  I  was  fixed  comfortably  there  would  come 
a  great  sea,  and  the  boat  would  lurch,  and  I  had 
to  disarrange  my  position.  It  was  horrid.  But 
Mr.  Potiphar  was  very  good  all  night.  He  kept 
coming  to  see  if  Polly  wanted  any  thing,  and  if 
she  were  warm  enough,  and  if  she  were  well. 
Gauche  Boosey,  who  was  on  the  floor  in  the 
saloon,  said  he  saw  Mr.  P.  crawl  up  softly  and 
try  his  state-room  door.  But  it  was  locked,  "  and 


THE   POTIPHARS   IN   PARIS.  201 

the  snoring  of  old  De  Famille,  who  was  enjoying 
his  required  rest,"  said  he,  "  carne  in  regular 
broadsides  through  the  blinds." 

I  don't  know  how  Mr.  De  Famille  explained. 
I  only  know  Mrs.  P.  charged  old  Pot.  to  be 
satisfied  with  any  thing. 

"  There  are  some  people,  my  darling  Caroline," 
she  said  to  me,  "  with  whom  it  does  not  do  to 
quarrel.  It  isn't  Christian  to  quarrel.  I  can't 
afford  to  be  on  bad  terms  with  the  De  Families." 

"It  is  odd,  isn't  it,"  said  Kurz  Pacha  to  Mrs. 
P.,  as  we  were  sailing  down  the  harbor  on  our 
way  to  Europe,  and  talking  of  the  circumstance 
of  the  state-rooms,  "it  is  so  odd,  that  in  Sennaar, 
where,  to  be  sure,  civilization  has  scarcely  a  foot 
hold — I  mean  such  civilization  as  you  enjoy — 
this  proceeding  would  have  been  called  dishon 
est?  They  do  have  the  oddest  use  of  terms  in 
Sennaar !  Why,  I  remember  that  I  once  bought  a 
sheep,  and  as  it  was  coming  to  my  fold  in  charge 
of  my  shepherd,  a  man  in  a  mask  came  out  of  a 
wood  and  walked  away  with  the  sheep,  and  ap 
propriated  the  mutton-chops  to  his  own  family 

uses.  And  those  singular  people  in  Sennaar  called 
9* 


202  THE   POTIPII.VR   PATERS. 

it  stealing !  Shall  I  ever  get  through  laughing  at 
them  when  I  return !  There  ought  to  be  mission 
aries  sent  to  Sennaar.  Do  you  think  the  Rev. 
Cream  Cheese  would  go  ?  How  gracefully  he 
would  say :  '  Benighted  brethren,  in  my  country 
when  a  man  buys  a  sheep  or  a  state-room,  and 
pays  money  for  it,  and  another  man  appropriates 
it,  depriving  the  rightful  buyer  of  his  chops  and 
sheep,  what  does  the  buyer  do  ?  Does  he  swear  ? 
Does  he  rail  ?  Does  he  complain  ?  Does  he  even 
ask  for  the  cold  pickings  ?  Not  at  all,  brethren  ; 
he  does  none  of  these  things.  lie  sends  Worces 
tershire  sauce  to  the  thief,  or  a  pillow  of  poppies, 
and  says  to  him,  Friend,  all  of  mine  is  thine,  and 
all  of  thine  is  thy  own.  This,  benighted  people 
of  Sennaar,  is  the  practice  of  a  Christian  people. 
As  one  of  our  great  poets  says,  '  It  is  more  blessed 
to  give  than  to  receive.'  Think  how  delicately 
the  Rev.  Cream  would  pat  his  mouth  with  the 
fine  cambric  handkerchief,  after  rounding  off  such 
a  homily  !  lie  might  ask  you  and  Mrs.  Potiphar 
to  accompany  him  as  examples  of  this  Christian 
pitch  of  self-sacrifice.  On  the  whole,  I  wouldn't 
advise  you  to  go.  The  rude  races  of  Sennaar 


THE    POTIPHARS    IN    PARIS.  203 

might  put  that  beautiful  forgiveness  of  yours  to 
extraordinary  proofs.  Holloa !  there's  a  sea !" 

We  were  dismally  sea-sick.  And  I  cared  for 
nothing  but  arriving.  Oh  !  dear,  I  think  I  would 
even  have  given  up  Paris,  at  least  I  thought  so. 
But,  oh!  how  could  I  think  so!  Just  fancy  a 
place  where  not  only  your  own  maid  speaks 
French,  but  where  every  body,  the  porters,  the 
coachmen,  the  chambermaids,  can't  speak  any 
thing  else!  Where  the  very  beggars  beg,  and 
the  commonest  people  swear,  in  French !  Oh  ! 
it's  inexpressibly  delightful.  Why,  the  dogs  un 
derstand  it,  and  the  horses — "  every  body,"  as 
Kurz  Pacha  said  to  me,  the  morning  after  our 
arrival  (for  he  insisted  upon  coming,  "  it  was 
such  a  freak,"  he  said,)  "  every  body  rolls  in  a 
luxury  of  French,  and,  according  to  the  board 
ing-school  standard,  is  happy." 

Every  body — but  poor  Mr.  Potiphar ! 

He  has  a  terrible  time  of  it. 

When  we  arrived  we  alighted  at  Meurice's,— 
all  the  fashionable  people  do  ;  at  least  Gauche 
Booscy  said  Lord  Brougham  did,  for  he  used  to 
read  it  in  Galignani,  and  I  suppose  it  is  fashion- 


204  THE   POTIPHAR  PAPERS. 

able  to  do  as  Lord  Brougham  does.  D'Orsay 
Firkin  said  that  the  Hotel  Bristol  was  more 
recherche. 

"Does  that  mean  cheaper?"  inquired  Mr.  Pot- 
iphar. 

Mr.  Firkin  looked  at  him  compassionately. 

"  I  only  want,"  said  Mr.  Potiphar,  in  a  kind  of 
gasping  way,  for  it  was  in  the  cars  on  the  way 
from  Boulogne  to  Paris  that  we  held  this  con 
sultation — "  I  only  want  to  go  where  there  is 
somebody  who  can  speak  English." 

"  My  dear  sir,  there  are  Commissionaires  at  all 
the  hotels  who  are  perfect  linguists,"  said  Mr.  Fir 
kin  in  a  gentlemanly  manner. 

"  Oh !  dear  me !"  said  Mr.  P.  wiping  his 
forehead  with  the  red  bandanna  that  he  always 
carries,  despite  Mrs.  P.,  "  what  is  a  commission 
aire?" 

"  An  interpreter,  a  cicerone,"  said  Mr.  Firkin. 

"  A  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend,"  said  Kurz 
Pacha. 

"  Kurz  Pacha,  do  you  speak  French  ?"  inquired 
Mr.  P.,  nervously,  as  we  rolled  along. 

"  Oh  !  yes,"  replied  he. 


THE   POTIPHARS   IN   PARIS.  205 

"  Oh !  dear  me !"  said  Mr.  Potiphar,  looking 
Disconsolately  out  of  the  window. 

We  arrived  soon  after. 

"  "We  are  now  at  the  Barri&re,"  said  Mr.  Firkin. 

"  What  do  we  do  there?"  asked  Mr.  Potiphar. 

"  We  are  inspected,"  said  Mr.  Firkin. 

Mr.  Potiphar  drew  himself  up  with  a  military 
air. 

We  alighted  and  walked  into  the  room  where 
all  the  baggage  was  arranged. 

"  Est-ce  qu'il  y  a  quelque  chose  d  declarer  f"  asked 
an  officer,  addressing  Mr.  Potiphar. 

"  Good  Heavens!  what  did  you  say?"  said  Mr. 
P.,  looking  at  him. 

The  officer  smiled,  and  Kurz  Pacha  said  some 
thing,  upon  which  he  bowed  and  passed  on.  We 
stepped  outside  upon  the  pavement,  and  I  confess 
that  even  I  could  not  understand  every  thing  that 
was  said  by  the  crowd  and  the  coachmen.  But 
Kurz  Pacha  led  the  way  to  a  carriage,  and  we 
drove  off  to  Meurice's. 

"It's  awful,  isn't  it?"  said  Mr.  Potiphar,  pant 
ing. 

When  we  reached  the  hotel,  a  gentleman  (Mr. 


206  THE    POTIPIIAK    PAPERS. 

Potiphar  said  lie  was  sure  he  was  a  gentleman, 
from  a  remark  he  made — in  English)  came  bow 
ing  out.  But  before  the  door  of  the  carriage  was 
opened,  Mr.  P.  thrust  his  head  out  of  the  window, 
and  holding  the  door  shut,  cried  out,  "  Do  you 
speak  English  here  ?" 

"Certainly,  sir,"  replied  the  clerk;  and  that 
was  the  remark  that  so  pleased  Mr.  Potiphar. 

My  room  was  next  to  the  Potiphars,  and  I 
heard  a  great  deal,  you  may  be  sure.  I  didn't 
mean  to,  but  I  couldn't  help  it.  The  next  morn 
ing,  when  they  were  about  coming  down,  I  heard 
Polly  say — 

"  Now,  Mr.  Potiphar,  remember,  if  you  want  to 
speak  of  your  room  it  is  numcro  quatrc-vinyt  cinq," 
and  she  pronounced  it  very  slowly.  ".Now  trv, 
Mr.  P." 

"  Oh  !  dear  me.     Kattery  vang  sank,"  said  he. 

"Very  good,"  answered  she;  "ait  troisieme ; 
that  means,  on  the  third  floor.  Now  trv." 

"  O  tror— O  trorsy— 0  trorsy— Oh  !  dear  me!" 
muttered  he  in  a  tone  of  despair. 

"bne,"  said  Mrs.  P. 

"  Aim,"  said  he. 


THE    TOTIPHAKS    IN    PARIS.  207 

"Well?"  said  Mrs.  P. 
"  0  trorsyaim,"  said  lie. 

"  That's  very  well,  indeed  !"  said  M*s.  Potiphar, 
and  they  went  out  of  the  room.  I  joined  them 
in  the  hall,  and  we  ran  on  before  Mr.  P.,  but  we 
soon  heard  some  one  speaking,  and  stopped. 

"Monsieur,  veut  il prendreun  commissionaire?" 

"  Kattery — vang — sank,"  replied  Mr.  Potiphar, 
with  great  emphasis. 

"  Comment?"  said  the  other. 

"Otror — 0  tror — Oh!  Polly — seeaim — seeaimi" 
returned  Mr.  P. 

"You  speak  English?"  said  the  commissionaire. 

"Why!  good  God!  do  you?"  asked  Mr.  P., 
with  astonishment. 

"  I  speaks  every  languages,  sare,"  replied  the 
other,  "  and  we  will  use  the  English,  if  you  please. 
But  Monsieur  speaks  ires  lien  the  French  lan 
guage." 

"Are  you  speaking  English  now?"  asked  Mr. 
Potiphar. 

The  commissionaire  answered  him  that  he  was, 
—and  Mr.  P.  thrust  his  arm  through  that  of  the 
commissionaire  and  said — 


208  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

"  My  dear  sir,  if  you  are  disengaged  I  should 
be  very  glad  if  you  would  accompany  me  in  my 
walks  through  the  town." 

"Mr.  Potiphar!"  said  Polly,  "come!" 
"Coming,  my  dear,"  answered  he,  as  he  ap 
proached  with  the  commissionaire.  It  was  in  vain 
that  Mrs.  P.  winked  and  frowned.  Her  husband 
would  not  take  hints.  So  taking  his  other  arm, 
and  wishing  the  commissionaire  good  morning, 
she  tried  to  draw  him  away.  But  he  clung  to  his 
companion  and  said, 

"  Polly,  this  gentleman  speaks  English." 
"Don't  keep  his  arm,"  whispered  she;  "he  is 
only  a  servant." 

"  Servant,  indeed  !"  said  he;  "you  should  have 
heard  him  speak  French,  and  you  see  how  gen 
tlemanly  he  is." 

It  was  some  time  before  Polly  was  able  to 
make  her  husband  comprehend  the  case. 

"Ah!"  said  he,  at  length;  "Oh!  I  understand." 
All  our  first  days  were  full  of  such  little  mis 
takes.     Kurz  Pacha  came  regularly  to  see  us,  and 
laughed  more  than  I  ever  saw  him  laugh  before. 
The  young  men  were  away  a  great  deal,  which 


THE   POTIPHARS   IN   PARIS.  209 

was  hardly  kind.  But  they  said  they  must  call 
upon  their  old  acquaintances;  and  Polly  and  I 
expected  every  day  to  be  called  upon  by  their 
lady  friends. 

"  It's  very  odd  that  the  friends  of  these  young 
men  don't  call  upon  us,"  said  Mrs.  Potiphar  to 
Kurz  Pacha;  "it  would  be  only  civil." 

The  Ambassador  laughed  a  good  deal  to  him 
self  and  then  answered, 

"  But  they  are  not  visiting  ladies." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  she. 

"  Ask  Mr.  Firkin,"  replied  he. 

So  when  we  saw  them  next,  Mrs.  P.  said, 

"  Mr.  Firkin,  I  remember  you  used  to  tell  me 
of  the  pleasant  circles  in  which  you  visited  in 
Paris,  and  how  much  superior  French  society 
is  to  American." 

"Infinitely  superior,"  replied  Mr.  Firkin. 

"Much  more  spiritual,"  said  Mr.  Boosey. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Potiphar,  "we  are  going 
to  stay  only  a  short  time  to  be  sure,  but 
we  should  like  very  much  to  see  a  little  good 
society." 

"Ah!"  said  Mr.  Firkin. 


210  THE    POT1PIIAU   PAPERS. 

"  Oh !  yes,  certainly,"  said  Mr.  Boosey ;  ami 
the  corners  of  his  eyelids  twitched. 

"  Perhaps  you  might  suggest  that  you  have 
some  friends  staying  in  town,"  said  Mrs.  P. 
"You  know  we're  all  intimate  enough  for  that." 

"  Yes — oh,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Firkin,  slowly ; 
"  but  the  truth  is,  it's  a  little  awkward.  These 
ladies  are  kind  enough  to  receive  us ;  but  to 
ask  favors  of  them,  is,  you  see,  different." 

"  Oh  !  yes,"  interrupted  Mr.  Boosey  ;  "  to  ask 
favors  of  them  is  a  very  different  thing,"  and 
his  eyes  really  glistened. 

"These  are  ladies,  you  see,  dear  Mrs.  Potiphar," 
said  Kurz  Pacha,  "  who  don't  grant  favors." 

"  But  still,"  continued  Mr.  Firkin,  "  if  you  only 
wanted  to  see  them,  you  know,  and  be  able  to  say 
at  home  that  you  knew  Madame  la  Marquise  So- 
and-so,  and  Madame  la  Comtesse  So-and-so,  and 
describe  their  dresses,  why,  we  can  manage  it 
well  enough  ;  for  we  are  engaged  to  a  little 
party  at  the  opera  this  evening  with  the  Countess 
de  Papillon  and  Madame  Casta  Diva,  two  of 
the  best  known  ladies  in  Paris.  But  they  never 
visit." 


THE    POTIPIIARS    IX   PARIS.  211 

"  How  superbly  exclusive  !"  said  Mrs.  Poti- 
phar ;  "I  wonder  Low  tliat  would  do  at  Lome ! 
However,  I  sLould  be  glad  to  see  the  general 
air  and  tlie  toilette,  you  know.  If  we  were 
going  to  pass  tlie  wLole  winter  I  would  know 
them  of  course.  But  tilings  are  different  wLere 
you  stay  so  sLort  a  time.  Eh,  Kurz  PacLa  ?" 

"  Very  different,  Madame.  But  you  are  quite 
right.  Make  Lay  wLile  the  sun  sLines ;  use  your 
eyes  if  you  can't  use  your  tongue.  Eyes  are  great 
auxiliaries,  you  can  use  the  tongue  afterward. 
You've  no  idea  Low  well  you  can  talk  about 
FrencL  society  if  you  only  go  to  tLe  opera  with 
a  friend  who  knows  people,  and  to  your  banker's 
soirees.  If  you  cLose  to  read  a  little  of  Balzac, 
beside,  your  knowledge  will  be  complete." 

So  we  agreed  to  go  to  tlie  opera.  We  passed 
tLe  days  sliopping,  and  driving  in  tlie  Bois  de 
Boulogne.  Sometimes  tlie  young  men  went  with 
us,  and  D'Orsay  Firkin  confided  to  me  one  of 
Lis  adventures,  which  was  very  romantic.  You 
know  how  handsome  lie  is,  and  Low  excessively 
.gentlemanly,  and  Low  tLe  girls  were  all  in  love 
witL  him  last  winter  at  home.  Now  you  needn't 


212  THE    POTIPHAR    PAPERS. 

say  that  I  was,  for  you  know  better.  I  liked  him 
as  a  friend.  But  he  told  me  that  he  had  often 
seen  a  girl  in  one  of  the  shops  on  the  Boulevards 
watching  him  very  closely.  He  never  passed  by, 
but  she  always  saw  him,  and  looked  so  earnestly 
at  him,  that  at  length  he  thought  he  would 
saunter  carelessly  into  the  shop,  and  ask  for  some 
trifle.  The  moment  he  entered  she  fixed  her  eyes 
full  upon  him,  and  he  says  they  were  large  and 
lustrous,  and  a  little  mournful  in  expression.  But 
he  scarcely  looked  at  her,  and  asked  at  the  oppo 
site  counter  for  a  pair  of  gloves.  He  tried  them 
on,  and  in  the  mirror  behind  the  counter  he  saw 
the  girl  still  watching  him.  After  lingering  for 
some  time,  and  looking  at  every  thing  but  the 
girl,  he  sauntered  slowly  out  again,  while  her 
eyes,  he  said,  grew  evidently  more  mournful  as 
she  saw  him  leave  without  looking  at  her.  Daily, 
for  a  week  afterwards,  he  walked  by  the  door, 
and  she  was  always  watching  and  looking  after 
him  with  the  most  eager  interest.  Mr.  Firkin  did 
not  say  he  was  sorry  for  the  little  French  girl,  but 
I  know  that  he  really  felt  so.  These  men,  that 
every  woman  falls  in  love  with,  are  generous, 


THE   POTIPHARS   IN   PARIS.  213 

I  have  always  found.  And  I  am  sure  he  would 
never  have  confided  this  little  affair  to  me,  except 
for  the  very  intimate  terms  upon  which  we  are ; 
for  I  have  heard  him  say  (speaking  of  other  men) 
that  nothing  was  meaner  than  for  a  man  to  tell  of 
his  conquests. 

"Well,  the  affair  went  on,  he  says,  for  some 
days  longer.  He  was,  at  the  time,  constantly 
in  attendance  upon  the  Countess  de  Papillon,  but 
often  from  the  window  of  her  carriage  he  has 
remarked  the  young  girl  pensively  watching  him, 
as  she  stretched  gloves,  or  tied  cravats  around  the 
necks  of  customers.  At  length  he  determined  to  fol 
low  the  matter  up,  as  he  called  it,  and  so  marched 
into  the  shop  one  day,  and  going  straight  toward 
the  mournful  eyes,  he  asked  for  a  pair  of  gloves. 
Mr.  Firkin  says  the  French  women  are  so  per 
fectly  trained  to  conceal  their  emotions,  that  she 
did  not  betray,  by  any  trembling,  or  turning  pale, 
or  stammering,  the  profound  interest  she  felt  for 
him,  but  quietly  looked  in  his  eyes,  and  in  what 
Mr.  Firkin  called  "a  strain  of  Siren  sweetness," 
asked  what  number  he  wore.  He  replied  with 
his  French  esprit,  as  Kurz  Pacha  calls  it,  that  he 


214  THE   rOTlPIIAR   PAPER??. 

thought  the  size  of  her  hand  was  about  right 
for  him;  upon  which  she  smiled  in  the  most  be 
witching  manner,  and  bringing  out  a  large  box  of 
gloves,  selected  a  pair  of  an  exquisite  nuance,  as 
the  French  say,  you  know,  and  asking  him  to  put 
out  his  hand,  she  proceeded  to  lit  the  glove  to  it, 
herself.  Mr.  Firkin  remarked,  that  as  she  did  so, 
she  would  raise  her  eyes  to  his  whenever  she 
found  it  necessary  to  press  his  ringers  harder  than 
usual,  and  when  he  thought  the  glove  was  fairly 
on,  she  kept  pulling  it  down,  and  smoothing  it; 
and  finally  taking  his  hand  between  both  of  hers, 
she  brought  the  glove  together,  buttoned  it,  and 
said,  'Monsieur  has  such  a  delicate  hand,'  and 
smiled  sweetly. 

Mr.  Firkin  said  he  bought  an  astonishing  num 
ber  of  gloves  that  morning,  and  suddenly  remem 
bered  that  he  wanted  cravats.  Fortunately  the 
new  styles  had  just  come  in,  Marie  said  (for  he 
had  discovered  her  name),  and  she  opened  a  daz 
zling  array  of  silks  and  satins,  and  asking  him  to 
remove  his  neckcloth,  she  wound  her  hand  in  a 
beautiful  silk,  and  throwing  her  arms,  for  a  little 
moment,  quite  around  his  neck,  she  tied  it  in 


THE   POTIPHARS   IX   PARIS.  215 

front ;  her  little  hands  sometimes  hitting  his  chin. 
Then  taking  him  by  the  hand  she  led  him  to  a 
mirror,  in  which  he  might  survey  the  effect,  while 
she  stood  behind  him  looking  into  the  mirror 
over  his  shoulder,  her  head  really  quite  close  to 
his,  and,  in  her  enthusiasm  about  the  set  of  the 
cravat,  having  forgotten  to  take  her  hand  out  of 
his.  lie  stood  a  great  while  before  that  mirror, 
trying  to  discover  if  it  really  was  a  becoming  tie. 
He  said  he  never  found  so  much  difficulty  in 
deciding.  But  Marie  decided  every  thing  for  him, 
and  laid  aside  piles  of  cravats,  and  gloves,  and 
fancy  buttons,  and  charms,  until  he  was  quite 
dizzy,  and  found  that  he  hadn't  money  enough  in 
his  pocket  to  pay. 

"It  is  nothing,"  said  the  trustful  Marie,  "  Mon 
sieur  will  call  again."  Touched  by  her  confidence 
he  has  called  several  times  since,  and  never  escapes 
without  paying  fifty  francs  or  so.  Marie  says  the 
Messieurs  Americains  are  princes.  They  never 
have  smaller  change  than  a  Napoleon,  and  they 
are  not  only  the  most  regal  of  customers  but  the 
most  polite  of  gentlemen.  Mr.  Firkin  says  he  has 
often  seen  Frenchmen  watching  him,  as  he  stood 


216  THE    POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

in  the  shop,  with  the  most  quizzical  expression, 
and  once  or  twice  he  has  thought  he  heard  sup 
pressed  laughter  from  a  group  of  the  other  girls 
and  the  French  gentlemen.  But  it  was  a  mistake, 
for  when  he  turned,  the  Frenchmen  had  the  po 
litest  expression,  and  the  girls  were  very  busy 
with  the  goods.  Poor  French  gentlemen!  how 
they  must  be  annoyed  to  see  foreigners  carrying 
off  not  only  all  the  gloves,  but  all  the  smiles,  of 
the  beautiful  Maries.  It  is  really  pleasant  to  see 
Gauche  Boosey  and  D'Orsay  Firkin  promenade 
on  the  Boulevards.  They  are  more  superbly 
dressed  than  any  body  else.  They  have  such 
coats,  and  trowsers,  and  waistcoats,  and  boots, — 
"always  looking,"  says  Kurz  Pacha,  "as  if  they 
came  into  a  large  fortune  last  evening,  and  were 
anxious  to  advertise  the  fact  this  morning."  Even 
the  boys  in  the  streets  turn  to  look  at  them. 

Mr.  Boosey  always  buys  the  pattern  shirts,  and 
woollen  morning  dresses,  and  fancy  coats,  that 
hang  in  the  shop  windows.  "  Then,"  he  says,  "  I 
am  sure  of  being  at  the  height  of  the  fashion." 
Mr.  Firkin  is  more  quiet.  The  true  gentleman, 
he  says,  is  known  by  the  absence  of  every  thing 


THE    POTIPHARS   IN    PARIS.  217 

prononce.  "  He  is  a  very  true  gentleman,  then," 
even  Kurz  Pacha  says,  "  for  I  have  never  found 
any  thing  prononce  in  Mr.  D'Orsay  Firkin."  The 
Pacha  tells  a  good  story  of  them.  "  The  week 
after  their  arrival  Mr.  B.  appeared  in  a  suit  of 
great  splendor.  It  was  a  very  remarkable  coat, 
and  waistcoat,  covered  with  gilt  sprigs,  and  an 
embroidered  shirt-bosom,  altogether  a  fine  coro 
nation  suit  for  the  king  of  the  Cannibal  islands. 
Mr.  Firkin,  as  usual,  was  rigorously  gentlemanly, 
in  the  quiet  way.  They  walked  together  up  the 
Boulevards,  Mr.  B.  flashing  in  the  sun,  and  Mr.  F. 
sombre  as  a  shadow.  The  whole  world  turned  to 
remark  the  extreme  gorgeousness  of  Mr.  Boosey's 
attire,  which  was  peculiar  even  in  Paris.  At  first 
that  ornament  of  society  rather  enjoyed  it,  but 
such  universal  attention  became  a  little  weari 
some,  and  at  length  annoying.  Finally  Mr.  Boo- 
sey  could  endure  it  no  longer,  and  turning  round 
he  stopped  Mr.  Firkin,  and  looking  at  him  from 
top  to  toe,  remarked,  '  Really  I  see  nothing  so. 
peculiar  in  your  dress  that  the  whole  town  should 
stop  to  stare  at  you.'  Mr.  Boosey  is  a  man  of 

great  discrimination,"  concluded  the  Ambassador. 
10 


218  THK    POTIPHAK    PAPERS. 

He  went  with  us  to  the  opera,  where  we  were 
to  see  the  Countess  dc  Papillon  and  Madame 
Casta  Diva.  The  house  was  full,  and  the  young 
gentlemen  had  told  us  where  to  look  for  their 
box.  Mrs.  Potiphar  had  made  Mr.  P.  as  presenta 
ble  as  possible,  and  begged  the  Scnnaar  Minister 
to  see  that  Mr.  P.  did  not  talk  too  loud,  nor  go  to 
sleep,  nor  offend  the  proprieties  in  any  way ; 
especially  to  cut  off  all  his  attempts  at  speaking 
French.  She  had  hired  the  most  expensive  box. 

"People  respect  money,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Potiphar  to  me. 

"  But  not  always  its  owners,  my  dear,"  whis 
pered  Kurz  Pacha  in 'my  other  ear. 

When  we  entered  the  box  all  the  glasses  in  the 
house  were  levelled  at  us.  Mrs.  Potiphar  gayly 
seated  herself  in  the  best  seat,  nodding  and.  chat 
ting  with  the  Ambassador ;  her  diamonds  glitter 
ing,  her  brocade  glistening,  her  fan  waving,  while 
I  slipped  into  the  seat  opposite,  and  Mr.  Potiphar 
stood  behind  me  in  a  dazzling  expanse  of  white 
waistcoat,  and  his  glass  in  his  eye,  as  Mrs.  P.  had 
taught  him. 

"  A  very  successful  entret,"  whispered  the  Pacha 


THE   POTIPHARS   IX   PARIS.  219 

to  Mrs.  P.  "I  shall  give  out  to  my  friends  that  it 
is  the  heiress  presumptive  of  the  Camanchees." 

"No,  really;  what  is  the  Camanchees?"  said 
Polly  levelling  her  glass  all  round  the  house,  and 
laughing,  and  talking,  and  rustling,  as  if  she  were 
very,  very  happy. 

Suddenly  there  Avas  a  fresh  volley  of  glasses 
towards  our  box,  and,  to  our  perfect  dismay,  we 
turned  and  saw  that  Mr.  Potiphar  had  advanced 
to  the  front,  and  having  put  down  his  eye-glass, 
had  taken  out  his  old,  round,  silver-barred  spec 
tacles,  and  was  deliberately  wiping  them  with 
that  great  sheet  of  a  hideous  red  bandanna,  "  pre 
paratory  to  an  exhaustive  survey  of  the  house," 
whispered  Kurz  Pacha  to  me. 

Mrs.  P.  wouldn't  betray  any  emotion,  but  still 
smiling,  she  hissed  to  him,  under  her  breath  : 

"  Mr.  P.,  get  back  this  minute.  Don't  make  a 
fool  of  yourself.  Mais,  monsieur,  c'est  vraiment 
charmant." 

The  latter  sentence  was  addressed  with  smiles 
to  the  Ambassador,  as  she  saw  that  the  neighbor 
in  the  next  box  was  listening. 

"  It's  uncommonly  warm,"  said  Mr.  Potiphar  in 


220  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

a  loud  tone,  as  he  wiped  his  forehead  with  the 
bandanna. 

"  Yes,  I  observe  that  Mrs.  Potiphar  betrays  the 
heat  in  her  face,"  said  the  Pacha,  "  which,  how 
ever,  is  merely  a  becoming  carnation,  Madame," 
concluded  he,  sinking  his  voice,  and  rubbing  his 
hands. 

At  that  moment  in  the  box  opposite  I  saw 
our  friends,  Mr.  Boosey  and  Mr.  Firkin.  By 
their  sides  sat  two  such  handsome  women ! 
They  wore  a  great  quantity  of  jewelry,  and  had 
the  easiest,  most  smiling  faces  you  ever  saw. 
They  entered  making  a  great  noise,  and  I  could 
see  that  the  modesty  of  our  friends  kept  them 
in  the  rear.  For  they  seemed  almost  afraid  of 
being  seen. 

"  I  like  that,"  said  Kurz  Pacha ;  "  it  shows 
that  such  stern  republicans  don't  intend  ever  to 
appear  delighted  with  the  smiles  of  nobility." 

"  The  largest  one  is  Madame  la  Marquise  Casta 
Diva,"  said  Mrs.  Potiphar,  scanning  them  care 
fully,  "  I  know  her  by  her  patrician  air.  What 
a  splendid  thing  blood  is,  to  be  sure !" 

She  gave  herself  several  minutes  to  study  the 


THE   POTIPHARS    IN   PARIS.  221 

toilette  of  the  lady,  while  I  looked  at  the  younger 
lady,  Countess  de  Papillon,  who  had  all  kinds 
of  little  fluttering  ends  of  ribbons,  and  laces, 
and  scallops,  and  ruffles,  and  was  altogether  so 
stylish ! 

"  I  see  now  where  Mr.  Firkin  gets  his  elegant 
manners,"  said  Mrs.  Potiphar;  "it  is  a  great 
privilege  for  young  Americans  to  be  admitted 
familiarly  into  such  society.  I  now  understand 
better  the  tone  of  their  conversation  when  they 
refer  to  the  French  Salons." 

"  Yes,  my  dear  Madame,"  answered  the  Pacha, 
"  this  is  indeed  making  the  best  of  one's  oppor 
tunities.  This  is  well  worth  coming  to  Europe 
for.  It  is,  in  fact,  for  this  that  Europe  is  chiefly 
valuable  to  an  American,  as  the  experience  of  an 
observer  shows.  Paris  is,  notoriously,  the  great 
centre  of  historical  and  romantic  interest.  To  be 
sure,  Italy,  Home,  Switzerland,  and  Germany, — 
yes,  and  even,  England, — have  some  few  objects 
of  interest  and  attention.  But  the  really  great 
things  of  Europe,  the  superior  interests,  are  all 
in  Paris.  Why,  just  reflect.  Here  is  the  Cafe 
dc  Paris,  the  Trois  Fr&res,  and  the  Maison  Doree. 


222  THE    POTIPHAR    PAPERS. 

I  don't  think  you  can  get  such  dinners  elsewhere. 
Then,  there  is  the  Grand  Opera,  the  Comic  Opera, 
and  now  and  then  the  Italian — I  rather  think 
that  is  good  music.  Are  there  any  such  theatres 
as  the  Vaudeville,  the  Varietes,  and  the  Afonlansier, 
where  there  is  the  most  dexterous  balancing  on 
the  edge  of  decency  that  ever  you  saw ;  and 
when  the  balance  is  lost,  as  it  always  is,  at  least 
a  dozen  times  every  evening,  the  applause  is 
tremendous,  showing  that  the  audience  have  such 
a  subtile  sense  of  propriety  that  they  can  detect 
the  slightest  deviation  from  the  right  line.  Is 
there  not  the  Louvre,  where,  if  there  is  not  the 
best  picture  of  a  single  great  artist,  there  are  good 
specimens  of  all?  Will  you  please  to  show  me 
such  a  promenade  as  the  Boulevards,  such  fetes 
as  those  of  the  Champs  Elysees,  such  shops  as 
those  of  the  Passages,  and  the  Palais  Royal. 
Above  all,  will  you  indicate  to  such  students  of 
mankind  as  Mr.  Boosey,  Mr.  Firkin,  and  I,  a  city 
more  abounding  in  piquant  little  women,  with 
eyes,  and  coiffures  and  toilettes,  and  je  ne  sais  quoi, 
enough  to  make  Diogenes  a  dandy,  to  obtain  their 
favor?  T  think,  dea*  Madame,  you  would  be 


THE   POTIPHARS  IN   PARIS.  223 

troubled  to  do  it.  And  while  these  things  are 
Paris,  while  we  are  sure  of  an  illimitable  allow 
ance  of  all  this  in  the  gay  capital,  we  do  right 
to  remain  here.  Let  who  will,  sadden  in  mouldy 
old  Eome,  or  luxuriate  in  the  orange-groves  of 
Sorrento  and  the  south,  or  wander  among  the 
ruins  of  the  most  marvellous  of  empires,  and  the 
monuments  of  art  of  the  highest  human  genius, 
or  float  about  the  canals  of  Yenice,  or  woo  the 
Venus  and  the  Apollo ;  and  learn  from  the  silent 
lips  of  those  teachers  a  lore  sweeter  than  the 
French  novelists  impart ; — let  who  will,  climb  the 
tremendous  Alps,  and  feel  the  sublimity  of  Switz 
erland  as  he  rises  from  the  summer  of  Italian 
lakes  and  vineyards  to  the  winter  of  the  glaciers, 
or  makes  the  tour  of  all  climates  in  a  day  by 
descending  those  mountains  toward  the  south  ;— 
let  those  who  care  for  it,  explore  in  Germany  the 
sources  of  modern  history,  and  the  remote  be 
ginnings  of  the  American  spirit ; — ours  be  the 
Boulevards,  the  demoiselles,  the  operas,  and  the 
unequalled  dinners.  Decency  requires  that  we 
should  see  Eome,  and  climb  an  Alp.  We  will 
devote  a  summer  week  to  the  one,  and  a  winter 


224  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

month  to  the  other.  They  will  restore  us  re 
newed  and  refreshed  for  the  manly,  generous, 
noble,  and  useful  life  we  lead  in  Paris." 

"Admirably  said,"  returned  Mrs.  Potiphar, 
who  had  been  studying  the  ladies  opposite  while 
the  Pacha  was  speaking,  "  but  a  little  bit  prosy," 
she  whispered  to  me. 

It  would  charm  you  to  hear  how  intelligently 
Mrs.  P.  speaks  about  French  society,  since  that 
evening  at  the  opera.  When  we  return,  you  will 
find  how  accomplished  she  is.  We've  been  here 
only  a  few  weeks,  and  we  already  know  all  the 
fashionable  shops,  and  a  little  more  French,  and 
we  go  to  the  confectioners,  and  eat  savarins  every 
morning  at  12,  and  we  drive  in  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne  in  the  afternoon,  and  we  dine  splendidly, 
and  in  the  evening  we  go  to  the  opera  or  a  theatre. 
To  be  sure,  we  don't  have  much  society  beside  our 
own  party.  But  then  the  shop-girls  point  out  the 
distinguished  women  to  Mrs.  Potiphar,  so  that 
she  can  point  them  out  when  we  drive ;  and 
our  banker  calls  and  keeps  us  up  in  gossip  ;  and 
Mrs.  Potiphar's  maid,  Adele,  is  inestimable  in  fur 
nishing  information ;  and  Mr.  Potiphar  gets  a  great 


THE   FOTIPHARS   IN   PAEIS.  225 

deal  out  of  his  commissionaire,  and  goes  about 
studying  his  Galignani's  Guide,  and  frequents  the 
English  Beading  Eoom,  where,  I  am  told,  he 
makes  himself  a  little  conspicuous  when  he  finds 
that  Englishmen  won't  talk,  by  saying,  "  Oh  !  dear 
me !"  and  wiping  his  face  with  a  bandanna.  He 
usually  opens  his  advances  by  making  sure  of  an 
Englishman,  and  saying,  "Bon  matin, — but,  per 
haps,  sir,  you  don't  speak  French." 

"  You  evidently  do  not,  sir,"  replied  one  gentle 
man. 

"  No,  sir ;  you're  right  there,"  answered  Mr.  P. 
But  he  couldn't  get  another  word  from  his  com 
panion. 

In  this  delightful  round  the  weeks  glide  by. 

"You  must  be  enjoying  yourself  immensely," 
says  the  Pacha.  ' '  You  understand  life,  my  dear 
Mrs.  Potiphar.  Here  you  are,  speaking  very  little 
French,  in  a  city  where  the  language  is  an  atmos 
phere,  and  where  you  are  in  no  sense  acclimated 
until  you  can  speak  it  fluently — with  all  French 
life  shut  out  from  you — living  in  a  hotel — cheated 
by  butcher,  baker,  and  candlestick-maker — going 

to  hear  plays  that  you  imperfectly  understand — to 

10* 


226  THE   POTIPIIAR   PAPERS. 

an  opera  where  you  know  nobody,  and  where 
your  box  is  filled  with  your  own  countrymen,  who 
are  delightful,  indeed,  but  whom  you  didn't  come 
to  Paris  to  see — constantly  buying  a  hundred 
things  because  they  are  pretty,  and  because  you 
are  in  Paris — entirely  ignorant,  and  quite  as  care 
less,  of  the  historical  interests  of  the  city,  of  the 
pictures,  of  the  statues,  and  buildings — surrounded 
by  celebrities  of  all  kind?,  of  whom  you  never 
heard,  and  therefore  lose  the  opportunity  of  seeing 
them — in  fact,  paying  the  most  extravagant  price 
for  every  thing,  and  purchasing  only  the  con 
sciousness  of  being  in  Paris — why.  who  ought  to 
be  happy,  and  considered  to  be  having  a  fine  time 
of  it,  if  you  are  not  ?  How  naturally  you  will 
sigh  for  all  this  when  you  return  and  recur  to 
Paris  as  the  culmination  of  human  bliss  !  Here's 
my  honored  Potiphar,  who  has  this  morning  been 
taken  to  a  darkened  room  in  a  grand  old  house, 
in  a  lonely,  aristocratic  street ;  and  there  a  picture- 
agent  has  shown  him  a  splendid  Nicolas  Poussin, 
painted  in  his  prime  for  the  family,  whose  heir  in 
reduced  circumstances  must  now  part  with  it  at  a 
tearful  sacrifice.  Honored  P.'s  friend,  the  com- 


THE    POTIPHARS   IN    PARIS.  227 

missionaire,  interprets  this  story,  while  the  agent 
stands  sadly  meditating  the  sacrifice  with  which 
his  duty  acquaints  him.  He  informs  the  good  P., 
through  the  friendly  commissionaire,  that  he  has 
been  induced  to  offer  him  the  picture,  not  only 
because  all  Americans  have  so  fine  a  taste  (as  his 
experience  has  proved  to  him)  in  paintings,  nor 
because  they  are  so  much  more  truly  munificent 
than  the  nobility  of  other  nations,  but  because  the 
heir  in  reduced  circumstances  wishes  to  think  of 
the  picture  as  entirely  removed  from  the  pos 
sibility  of  being  seen  in  France.  Family  pride, 
which  is  almost  crushed  in  disposing  of  so  great 
and  valued  a  work,  would  be  entirely  quenched, 
if  the  sale  were  to  be  known,  and  the  picture  re 
cognized  elsewhere  in  the  country.  Monsieur  is  a 
gentleman,  and  he  will  understand  the  feelings  of  a 
gentleman  under  such  circumstances.  The  commis 
sionaire  and  the  picture-agent  therefore  preserve  a 
profound  silence,  and  my  honored  friend  feels  for 
his  red  bandanna,  and  is  not  comfortable  in  the 
lonely  old  house,  with  the  picture  and  the  people. 
The  agent  says  that  it  is  not  unusual  for  the 
owner  to  visit  the  picture  about  that  very  hour,  to 


228  THE   POTIPUAR   PAPERS. 

hear  what  chance  there  is  for  its  sale.  If  this 
knock  should  be  he,  it  would  not  be  very  re 
markable.  The  heir  enters.  He  has  a  very 
heavy  moustache,  dark  hair,  and  a  slightly 
Hebrew  cast  of  countenance. 

"  Mr.  Potiphar  is  introduced.  The  heir  con 
templates  the  picture  sadly,  and  he  and  the  agent 
point  out  its  beauties  to  each  other.  In  fine,  my 
honored  Potiphar  buys  the  work  of  art.  To  any 
one  else,  of  course,  in  France,  for  instance,  the 
price  should  be  eleven  thousand  francs.  But  the 
French  and  the  Americans  have  fraternized ;  a 
thousand  francs  shall  be  deducted. 

"  You  see  clearly  it's  quite  worth  while  coming 
to  Paris  to  do  this,  because,  I  suppose,  there  are 
not  more  than  ten  or  twenty  artists  at  home  who 
could  paint  ten  or  twenty  times  as  good  a  picture 
for  a  quarter  of  the  price.  But  you,  dearest  Mrs. 
P.,  who  know  all  about  pictures,  naturally  don't 
want  American  pictures  in  your  house,  any  more 
than  you  want  any  thing  else  American  there. 

"  My  young  friends  and  allies,  Messrs.  Boosey, 
Firkin,  and  Croesus,  say  that  they  come  to  Paris 
to  see  the  world.  They  get  the  words  wrong,  you 


THE   POTIPHARS   IN    PARIS.  229 

know.  They  come  that  the  world  (that  is,  their 
world  at  home)  may  not  see  them.  To  accom 
pany  Mesdames  de  Papillon  and  Casta  Diva  to 
the  opera,  then  to  return  to  beautifully  furnished 
apartments  to  sup,  and  to  prolong  the  entertain 
ment  until  morning,  is  what  those  charming 
youths  mean  when  they  say  '  see  the  world.'  To 
attend  at  that  reunion  of  the  Haut  Ton,  Monsieur 
Celarius'  dancing  academy,  is  to  see  good  society 
in  Paris,  after  the  manner  of  those  dashing  men 
of  the  world.  It's  amusing  enough,  and  it's  in 
nocent  enough,  in  its  way.  They  won't  go  very 
far.  They'll  spend  a  good  deal  of  money  for  no 
thing.  They'll  be  plucked  at  gaming-houses. 
They'll  be  quietly  laughed  at  by  Mesdames  de 
Papillon  and  Casta  Diva,  and  the  male  friends 
of  those  ladies  who  enjoy  the  benefit  of  the  lavish 
bounty  of  our  young  Croesuses  and  Firkins. 
They'll  swagger  a  good  deal,  and  take  airs,  and 
come  home  and  indulge  in  foreign  habits,  now 
grown  indispensable.  They  will  pronounce  upon 
the  female  toilette,  and  upon  the  gantier  le  plus 
comme  il  faut,  in  Paris.  They  will  beg  your  par 
don  for  expressing  a  little  phrase  in  French — to 


230  THE    POTIPIIAR   PAPERS. 

which,  really,  the  English  is  inadequate.  They 
will  have,  necessarily,  the  foreign  air.  Some  of 
them  will  settle  away  into  business  men,  and  be 
very  exemplary.  Others  will  return  to  Paris,  as 
moths  to  the  light,  asserting  that  the  only  place 
for  a  gentleman  to  live  agreeably,  to  indulge  his 
tastes,  and  get  the  most  for  his  money,  is  Paris — 
which  is  strictly  true  of  such  gentlemen  as  they. 
A  view  of  life  that  starts  from  the  dinner-table, 
inevitably  selects  Paris  for  its  career.  For.  ob 
viously,  if  you  live  to  dine  well  you  must  live 
where  there  is  good  cooking. 

"  You  women  are  rather  worse  off  than  the 
young  men,  Mrs.  P. ;  because  you  are  necessarily 
so  much  more  confined  to  the  house.  Unless,  in 
deed,  you  imitate  Mrs.  Vite,  who  goes  wherever 
the  gentlemen  go,  and  who  is  famous  as  L'Ameri- 
caine.  If  you  like  that  sort  of  thing,  you  can 
do  as  much  of  it  as  you  please.  It  will  always 
surround  you  with  a  certain  kind  of  man,— and 
withdraw  from  your  society  a  certain  kind  of 
woman,  and  a  certain  kind  of  respect. 

"  To  conclude  my  sermon,  ladies,  Europe  is  a 
charmed  name  to  Americans,  because  in  Europe 


THE    POTIPHARS   IN    PARIS.  231 

are  the  fountains  of  all  our  education  and  training. 
History  is  the  story  of  that  hemisphere;  the 
ruins  of  empires,  arts,  and  civilizations,  are  here. 
Now,  if  there  is  any  use  in  living  at  all,  which  I 
am  far  from  asserting,  is  it  worth  while  to  get 
nothing  out  of  Europe  but  a  prolonged  supper 
with  Madame  Casta  Diva,  or  a  wardrobe  of  all  the 
charming  dresses  in  Paris,  and  a  facility  of  scan 
dal  which  has  all  the  wickedness  and  none  of  the 
wit  of  the  finest  Frenchwoman  ?  I  beg  a  thousand 
pardons  for  preaching,  but  the  text  was  altogether 
too  pregnant." 

And  so  Kurz  Pacha  whirled  out  of  the  room, 
humming  a  waltz  of  Strauss.  He  has  heard  of  his 
recall  to  Sennaar  since  he  has  been  here — and  we 
shall  hear  nothing  more  of  him.  We,  too,  leave 
Paris  in  a  few  da3'S  for  home,  and  you  will  not 
hear  from  us  again.  Mrs.  Potiphar  has  been  as 
busy  as  possible  getting  up  the  greatest  variety 
of  dresses.  You  will  see  that  she  has  not  been 
to  Paris  for  nothing.  Kurz  Pacha  asked  us  if  we 
had  been  to  the  Louvre,  where  the  great  pictures 
are.  But  when  I  inquired  if  there  were  any  of  Mr. 
Diisseldorf  's  there,  and  he  said  no,  why,  of  course, 


232  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

as  he  is  my  favorite,  and  I  know  more  of  bis 
works  than  I  do  of  any  others,  I  didn't  go.  There 
are  some  very  pretty  things  there,  Mr.  Boosey 
says.  But  ladies  have  no  time  for  such  matters. 
Do  you  know,  the  other  evening  we  went  to  the 
ball  at  the  Tuileries,  and  oh!  it  was  splendid. 
There  were  one  duke  and  three  marquesses,  and 
a  great  many  counts,  presented  to  me.  They  all 
said,  "It's  charming,  this  evening,"  and  I  said, 
"  very  charming,  indeed."  Wasn't  it  nice  ? 

But  you  should  have  seen  Mrs.  Potiphar  when 
the  Emperor  Napoleon  III.  spoke  to  her.  You 
know  what  a  great  man  he  is,  and  what  a  bene 
factor  to  his  country,  and  how  pure,  and  noble, 
and  upright  his  private  character  and  career  have 
been ;  and  how,  as  Kurz  Pacha  said,  he  is  radiant 
with  royalty,  and  honors  every  body  to  whom 
he  speaks.  Well,  Mrs.  P.  was  presented,  and 
sank  almost  to  the  ground  in  her  reverence.  But 
she  actually  trembled  with  delight  when  the  Em 
peror  said : 

"Madame,  I  remember  with  the  greatest  plea 
sure  the  beautiful  city  of  New  York." 

I  am  sure  the  Empress  Eugenie  would  have 


THE   POTIPHARS   IN   PAEIS.  233 

been  jealous,  could  she  have  heard  the  tone  in 
which  it  was  said.  "Wasn't  it  affable  in  such  a 
great  monarch  towards  a  mere  republican?  I 
wonder  how  people  can  slander  him  so,  and  tell 
such  stories  about  him.  I  never  saw  a  nicer 
man ;  only  he  looks  sleepy.  I  suppose  the  cares 
of  state  oppress  him,  poor  man !  But  one  thing 
you  may  be  sure  of,  dear  Mrs.  Downe,  if  people 
at  home  laugh  at  the  Emperor  and  condemn  him, 
just  find  out  if  they  have  ever  been  invited  to  the 
Tuileries.  If  not,  you  will  understand  the  reason 
of  their  hatred.  Mrs.  Potiphar  says  to  the  Ameri 
cans  here  that  she  can't  hear  the  Emperor  spoken 
against,  for  they  are  on  the  best  of  terms. 

"  Of  course  the  French  dislike  him,"  says  Mr. 
Firkin,  who  has  a  turn  for  politics,  "  for  they 
want  a  republic  before  they  are  ready  for  it." 

How  you  would  enjoy  all  this,  dear,  and  how 
sorry  I  am  you  are  not  here.  I  think  Mr.  Poti 
phar  is  rather  disconsolate.  He  whistles  and 
looks  out  of  the  window  down  into  the  garden 
of  the  Tuileries,  where  the  children  play  under 
the  trees;  and  as  he  looks  he  stops  whistling, 
and  gazes  sometimes  for  half  an  hour ;  and 


234  THE    FOTIPHAU    PAPERS. 

whenever  he  goes  out  afterward,  he  is  sure  to 
buy  something  for  Freddy.  When  the  shop 
keeper  asks  where  it  shall  be  sent,  Mr.  P.  says, 
in  a  loud,  slow  voice — "  Hotel  Mureece,  Kattery- 
vang-sank-o-trorsyaim." 

It  is  astonishing,  as  Kurz  Pacha  said,  that  we 
are  not  more  respected  abroad.  "Foreigners  will 
never  know  what  you  really  are,"  said  he  to  Mr. 
P.,  "  until  they  come  to  you.  Your  going  to 
them  has  failed." 

Good  bye,  dearest  Mrs.  Downe.  We  are  so 
sorry  to  corne  home !  You  won't  hear  from  us 
again. 

Your  ever  affectionate 

CAROLINE. 


VI. 

Jutr]  facia  10  %  Jung  of  Skttitaar, 


UPON  RECEIVING  HIS  LETTERS  OF  RECALL. 

(NOW   FIRST   TRANSLATED.) 


$uir}  flatly  ta  t|e  Jung  of 

UPON   RECEIVING   HIS   LETTERS    OF    RECALL. 

(NOW   FIKBT   TRANSLATED.) 


MOST   SABLE   AND   SERENE  MASTER: 

I  hear  and  obey.  You  said  to  me,  Go,  and  I 
went.  You  now  say,  come,  and  I  am  coming, 
with  the  readiness  that  befis  a  slave,  and  the 
cheerfulness  that  marks  the  philosopher. 

Accustomed  from  my  youth  to  breathe  the 
scented  air  of  Sennaar  saloons,  and  to  lounge  in 
listless  idleness  with  young  Sennaar,  I  am  weary 
of  the  simple  purity  of  manners  that  distinguishes 
this  people,  and  long  for  the  pleasing,  if  pointless, 
frivolities  of  your  court. 

Coming,  as  you  commanded,  to  observe  and 
report  the  social  state  of  the  metropolis  of  a 
people  who,  in  the  presence  of  the  world,  have 


233  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

renounced  the  feudal  organization  of  society,  I 
have  found  them,  as  you  anticipated,  totally  free 
from  the  petty  ambitions,  the  bitter  resolves,  and 
the  hollow  pretences,  that  characterize  the  society 
of  older  states. 

The  people  of  the  first  fashion  unite  the  greatest 
simplicity  of  character  with  the  utmost  variety  of 
intelligence,  and  the  most  graceful  elegance  of 
manner.  Knowing  that  for  an  American  the  only 
nobility  is  that  of  feeling ;  the  only  grace,  gen 
erosity  ;  and  the  only  elegance,  simplicity ;  they 
have  achieved  a  society  which  is  a  blithe  Arcadia, 
illustrating  to  the  world  the  principles  they  pro 
fess,  and  making  the  friend  of  man  rejoice. 

We,  who  are  reputed  savages,  might  well  be 
astonished  and  fascinated  with  the  results  of 
civilization,  as  they  are  here  displayed.  The 
universal  courtesy  and  consideration — the  gentle 
charity,  which  does  not  consider  the  appearance 
but  the  substance — "the  republican  independence, 
which  teaches  foreign  lords  and  ladies  the  worth- 
lessness  of  mere  rank,  by  obviously  respecting 
the  character  and  not  the  title — the  eagerness  with 
which  foreign  habits  are  subdued,  by  the  positive 


KURZ  PACHA  TO  THE  KING  OF  SEXNAAR.  239 

nature  of  American  manners — the  readiness  to 
assist — the  total  want  of  coarse  social  emulation — 
the  absence  of  ignorance,  prejudice  and  vulgarity, 
in  the  selecter  circles — the  broad,  sweet,  catholic 
welcome  to  all  that  is  essentially  national  and 
characteristic,  which  send.s  the  young  American 
abroad  only  that  he  may  return  eschewing  Euro 
pean  habits,  and  with  a  confidence  in  man  and 
his  country,  chastened  by  experience — these  have 
most  interested  and  charmed  me  in  the  observa 
tion  of  this  pleasing  people. 

It  is  here  the  pride  of  every  man  to  bear  his 
part  in  the  universal  labor.  The  young  men,  in 
stead  of  sighing  for  other  institutions,  and  the 
immunities  of  rank,  prefer  to  deserve,  by  earning, 
their  own  patents  of  Nobility.  They  are  industri 
ous,  temperate,  and  frugal,  as  becomes  the  youth 
to  whom  the  destinies  of  so  great  a  nation,  and 
the  hopes  of  the  world,  are  committed.  They 
are  proud  to  have  raised  themselves  from  pov 
erty,  and  they  are  never  ashamed  to  confess  that 
they  are  poor.  They  acknowledge  the  equal 
dignity  of  all  kinds  of  labor,  and  do  not  presume 
upon  any  social  differences  between  their  baker 


240  THE   POTIPHAR   PAPERS. 

and  themselves.  Knowing  that  luxury  enervates 
a  nation,  they  aim  to  show  in  their  lives,  as  in 
their  persons,  that  simplicity  is  the  finest  orna 
ment  of  dress,  as  health  best  decorates  the  body. 
They  are  cheerfully  obedient  to  those  who  com 
mand  them,  and  gentle  to  those  they  command, 
frull  of  charity,  and  knowing  that  if  every  man 
has  some  sore  weakness,  he  has  also  a  human 
soul  latent  in  him,  they  trust  each  man  as  if  that 
soul  might,  at  any  moment,  look  out  of  his  eyes, 
and  acknowledge  with  tears,  the  sympathy  that 
unites  them. 

They  show  in  all  this  social  independence  and 
originality,  the  shrewd  common-sense  which  we 
have  so  often  heard  ascribed  to  them.  For  if,  by 
some  fatal  error,  they  should  undertake  a  social 
rivalry,  in  kind,  with  the  old  world  and  all 
its  splendid  accessaries  of  antiquity,  wealth  and 
hereditary  refinement,  the  observer  would  see, 
what  now  is  never  beheld,  foolish  parvenus 
frenzied  in  the  pursuit  of  an  elegance  which,  in 
its  nature,  is  inaccessible  to  them.  We  should 
see  lavish  and  unmeaning  displays.  We  should 
pee  a  gaudy  ostentation,  —  serving  only  as  a 


KURZ  PACHA  TO  THE  KING  OF  SEN3AAR.    241 

magnificent  frame  to  the  vanity  of  the  subject. 
"We  should  see  the  grave  and  thoughtful,  the 
witty  and  accomplished,  the  men  and  women 
whose  genius  fitted  them  for  society,  withdraw 
ing  from  its  saloons,  and  preferring  privacy  to 
a  vulgar  and  profuse  publicity.  We  should  see 
society  become  a  dancing  school,  and  men  and 
women  degenerated  into  dull  and  dandified  boys 
and  girls,  content  with  (pardon  me,  sable  sir, 
but  it  would  be  the  truth)  "style."  We  should 
see,  as  in  an  effete  civilization,  marriages  of  con 
venience.  We  should  hear  the  heirs,  or  the 
holders,  of  great  fortunes,  called  "  gentlemanly" 
if  they  were  dull,  and  "a  little  wild"  if  they 
were  debauched.  We  should  see  parents  pant 
ing  to  "  marry  off"  their  dear  daughters  to  the 
richest  youths,  and  the  richest  youths  affecting 
a  "jolly"  and  "stunning"  life, — reputed  to  know 
the  world  because  they  were  licentious,  and  to 
have  seen  life  because  they  had  tasted  foreign 
dissipation.  We  should  hear  insipidity  praised 
as  good-humor,  and  nonchalance  as  ease.  We 
should  have  boorishness  accounted  manliness, 

and  impudence  wit.     We  should  gradually  lose 
11 


242  TUE    POTIPIIAK    PAPERS. 

faith  iii  mail  HA  we  associated  with  men,  and 
soon  perceive  that  the  only  safety  for  the  city 
was  in  its  constant  recruiting  from  the  simplicity 
and  strength  of  the  country. 

The  sharp  common-sense  of  this  people  pre 
vents  so  melancholy  a  spectacle.  In  fact,  you 
have  only  to  consider  that  this  society  docs  not 
remind  you  of  the  best  characteristics  of  any 
other,  to  judge  how  unique  it  is. 

But,  for  myself,  as  milk  disagrees  with  my 
constitution,  and  my  mind  tires  of  this  pastoral 
sweetness,  I  am  too  glad  to  obey  your  summons. 
In  my  younger  days  when  I  loved  to  press  the 
stops  of  oaten  pipes,  and— a  plaintive  swain — 
fancied  every  woman  what  she  seemed,  and  every 
rnan  iny  friend, — I  should  have  hailed  the  pros 
pect  of  a  life  in  an  Arcadia  like  this.  How  gladly 
I  should  have  climbed  its  Pisgah-peaks  of  hope, 
and  have  looked  off  into  the  Future,  flowing  with 
milk  and  honey.  I  would  grieve  (if  I  could)  that 
my  sated  appetite  refuses  more, — that  I  must  Iny 
down  my  crook  and  play  the  shepherd  no  longer. 
Yet  I  know  well  enough  that  in  the  perfumed 
atmosphere  of  the  circle  to  which  I  return,  I  shall 


KURZ  PACHA  TO  THE  KING  OF  SENNAAR.     243 

recur,  often,  with  more  than  regret,  to  the  hu 
mane,  polished,  intelligent,  and  simple  society  I 
leave  behind  me, — shall  wonder  if  Miss  Minerva 
Tattle  still  prattles  kindly  among  the  birds  and 
flowers, — if  Mrs.  Potiphar  still  leads,  by  her 
innate  nobility,  and  not  by  the  accident  of 
wealth,  the  swarm  of  gay,  and  graceful,  and 
brilliant  men  and  women  that  surround  her. 

I  humbly  trust,  sable  son  of  midnight,  my  lord 
and  master,  that  my  present  report  and  summary 
will  be  found  worthy  of  that  implicit  confidence 
immemorially  accorded  to  diplomatic  communi 
cations.  I  could  ask  for  it  no  other  reception. 
Your  slave, 

KURZ  PACHA. 


VII. 


FROM    THE 


grata  ioire  to  firs. 


(PKIVATI.) 


|rmn  tlje  $elr,  jf)enrj)  golre  tu 


(PRIVATE.) 


EDEXSIDE. 

MY  DEAR  MRS.  POTIPHAR: 

I  am  very  anxious  that  you  should  allow  rne 
to  receive  your  son  Frederic  as  a  pupil,  at  my 
parsonage,  here  in  the  country.  I  have  not  lived 
in  the  city  without  knowing  something  about 
it,  despite  my  cloth,  and  I  am  concerned  at  the 
peril  to  which  every  young  man  is  there  ex 
posed.  There  is  a  proud  philosophy  in  vogue 
that  every  thing  that  can  be  injured  had  better 
be  destroyed  as  rapidly  as  possible,  and  put  out 
of  the  way  at  once.  But  I  recall  a  deeper  and 
tenderer  wisdom  which  declared,  "  A  bruised 
reed  will  he  not  break."  The  world  is  not 


248  THE   P0TIPHAR   PAPERS. 

made  for  the  prosperous  alone,  nor  for  the 
strong.  We  may  wince  at  the  truth,  but  we 
must  at  length  believe  it, — that  the  poor  in 
spirit,  and  the  poor  in  will,  and  the  poor  in 
success;  are  appointed  as  pensioners  upon  our 
care. 

In  my  house  your  son  will  miss  the  luxuries 
of  his  home,  but  he  will,  perhaps,  find  as  cor 
dial  a  sympathy  in  his  little  interests,  and  as 
careful  a  consultation  of  his  desires  and  aims. 
lie  will  have  pure  air,  a  tranquil  landscape,  a 
pleasant  society ;  rny  books,  variously  selected, 
my  direction  and  aid  in  his  studies,  and  a 
neighborhood  to  town  that  will  place  its  re 
sources  within  his  reach.  A  city,  it  seems  to 
me,  is  mainly  valuable  as  a  gallery  of  oppor 
tunities.  But  a  man  should  not  live  exclu 
sively  in  his  library,  nor  among  his  pictures. 
Letters  and  art  may  well  decorate  his  life.  But 
If  they  are  not  subsidiary  to  the  man,  and  his 
character,  then  he  is  a  sadder  spectacle  than  a 
vain  book  or  a  poor  picture.  The  eager  whirl 
of  a  city  tends  either  to  beget  a  thirst  that  can 
only  be  sated  by  strong,  yet  dangerous  excite- 


REV.    MR.    DOVE   TO    MRS.    POTIPHAR.         249 

rnent,  or  to  deafen  a  man's  ear,  and  harden 
his  heart,  to  the  really  noble  attractions  around 
him. 

It  is  well  to  know  men.  But  men  are  not 
learned  at  the  billiard  table,  nor  in  the  bar 
room,  nor  by  meeting  them  in  an  endless  round 
of  debauch,  nor  does  a  man  know  the  world 
because  he  has  been  to  Paris.  It  is  a  sad  thing 
for  a  young  man  to  seek  applause  by  surpass 
ing  his  companions  in  that  which  makes  them 
contemptible.  The  best  men  of  our  own  time 
have  little  leisure,  and  the  best  of  other  days 
have  committed  their  better  part  to  books, 
wherein  we  may  know  and  love  them. 

There  is  nothing  more  admirable  than  good 
society,  as  there  is  nothing  so  fine  as  a  noble 
man,  nor  so  lovely  as  a  beautiful  woman.  And 
to  the  perfect  enjoyment  of  such  society  an  ease 
and  grace  are  necessary,  which  are  hardly  to 
be  acquired,  but  arc  rather,  like  beauty  and  talent, 
the  gift  of  Nature.  That  ease  and  grace  will 
certainly  run  great  risk  of  disappearing,  in  the 
embrace  of  a  fashion  unchastened  by  common 

sense :    and    it   is   observable    that    the  sensitive 
11* 


2(30  THE    POTIPHAR    PAPERS. 

gaucherie  of  a  countryman  is  more  agreeable 
than  the  pert  composure  of  a  citizen. 

I  do  not  deny  that  your  son  must  lose  some 
thing,  if  you  accede  to  ray  request,  but  I 
assuredly  believe  that  he  will  gain  more  than 
he  will  lose.  My  profession  makes  me  more1 
dogmatic,  probably,  than  is  strictly  courteous. 
But  I  have  observed,  in  my  recent  visits  to 
town,  that  Courtesy,  also,  is  getting  puny  and 
unmanly,  and  that  a  counterfeit,  called  Compli 
ment,  is  often  mistaken  for  it.  You  will  smile, 
probably,  at  my  old-fashioned  whims,  and  regret 
that  I  am  behind  my  time.  But  really,  it 
strikes  me,  that  the  ineffectual  imitation  of  an 
exploded  social  organization  is,  at  least,  two 
centuries  behind  my  time.  The  youth  who, 
socially  speaking,  are  termed  Young  America, 
represent,  in  character  and  conduct,  anything 
but  their  own  time  and  their  own  country. 

I  will  not  deny  that  the  secret  of  my  interest 
in  your  son,  is  an  earlier  interest  in  yourself— 
a  wild  dream  we  dreamed  together,  so  long  ago 
that  it  seems  not  to  be  a  part  of  my  life.  The 
companion  of  those  other  days  I  do  not  reco;: 


REV.    MR.    DOVE   TO    MRS.    POTIPHAR.         251 

nize  in  the  glittering  lady  I  sometimes  see.  But 
in  her  child  I  trace  the  likeness  of  the  girl  I 
knew,  and  it  is  to  the  memory  of  that  girl — 
whose  lovely  traits  I  will  still  believe  are  not 
destroyed,  but  are  somewhere  latent  in  the 
woman — that  I  consecrate  the  task  I  wish  to 
undertake.  I  am  married,  and  I  am  happy. 
But  sometimes  through  the  sweet  tranquillity 
of  my  life  streams  the  pensive  splendor  of  that 
long- vanished  summer,  and  I  cannot  deny  the 
heart  that  will  dream  of  what  might  have 
been. 

Madame,  I  can  wish  you  nothing  more  sin 
cerely  than  that  as  your  lot  is  with  the  rich  in 
this  world,  it  may  be  with  the  poor  in  the 
world  to  come. 

Your  obedient  servant, 

HENRY  DOVE. 


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